


An Eternity of Love

by Azyungel



Series: Love Is A Shield [2]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bilbo Remains In Erebor, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Arkenstone - Freeform, Bilbo Wants to Take Things Fast, Dreams, Illustrations, Khuzdul, Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Mention of Possible Universes, Mystery, Post-Battle of Five Armies, Soul Bond, Space and Time, The Lonely Mountain, Thorin Is Not In A Hurry, Thranduil is a Bit of a Villain, courting, magical things
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 17:47:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 36,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28622022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azyungel/pseuds/Azyungel
Summary: What could happen if Thorin lived to see the rebuilding of his kingdom and Bilbo remained in Erebor, while both had great hopes that their special connection would reach higher forms of expression and ultimately manifest into the greatest love of all? Will new temptations - some involving the carelessness and ignorance of others, our characters’ own fragile state at times, and the magic sometimes present in the Mountain - manage to tear Bilbo and Thorin apart? This love story takes a close look at their soul bond in a post-BoTFA setting where time flows in strange ways.OR: Bilbo inadvertently circumvents the courting process that Thorin is taking patient steps to initiate. Meanwhile, the Arkenstone, which Thorin left in Thranduil’s keeping, has gone missing, and the Elvenking is threatening to lead his army to Erebor, thinking that Thorin orchestrated its theft. If he can’t retrieve the Arkenstone, Thranduil will gladly take the Halfling, whom he has grown very fond of, instead.Reading Part 1 of this series is not required.
Relationships: Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield
Series: Love Is A Shield [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2080686
Comments: 72
Kudos: 36





	1. The Great Below

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes a look at the Mountain and its love for its king, and goes over Bilbo’s first full day in Erebor, in which he gets introduced to Dain, has a brief meeting with Dori, and visits a place very dear to Thorin.  
> Although technically the Mountain and Erebor are not the same thing, I will be using “the Mountain” and “Erebor” interchangeably.  
> I have included my painting of The Lonely Mountain at the end of this chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The present story should make sense even if you haven’t read Part 1. As I hope An Eternity of Love can stand on its own, for the sake of clarity I will briefly revisit events from Part 1 when appropriate. If you’d like a more complete experience of what the characters went through before their return to Erebor, reading Part 1 is of course encouraged :))

Some believe that, in one form or another, all things endure in this universe.

Some believe that life always _is_ , even when it seems like it has left a place, a body, or a mind.

Some believe that all things have life, and a soul, or at least the capacity to feel; that a tree can respond with fear and sadness to the brutality of a murder committed in its vicinity, or that a house can feel the joy of a happy event such as a child being born in it.

Some believe that even the furthest distance will not prevent certain things from feeling a mutual connection - be they people, places or inanimate objects.

Such is with this story as it begins again, drawing closer to the Mountain so dear to one of our characters, and in doing so drawing closer to his heart and home. For us to understand this character further, we must first understand more about this place.

It is known that when Thorin was young, he developed a great love for the Mountain, the place where he was born, one winter day, in an area isolated, dark, deep underground. In the days of King Thror, the Mountain pulsed with energy and activity. Everything had a place, a rhythm, a reason; it was like a clockwork mechanism, the dwarves mining the underground, crafting beautiful things, ever rejoicing in their work and in the great whole and family that they all formed. The Mountain sang with the noise of this permanent hustle and bustle, and Thorin felt its song of joy like no other.

When the king is sick, the kingdom becomes sick as well. So when Thror was taken by the gold madness, the Mountain felt it too; it grew vulnerable and couldn’t defend itself when Smaug came. It fell under his spell, and in time became a place infused with evil.

But the dragon could not destroy what is less known, the one thing left in it that was untarnished, that could not be measured in gold and silver: its love for those who had once lived there, and especially for one.

Could there have been any comfort for Thorin in thinking of home while struggling to make a living for his people, when his grandfather had died a brutal death and his father had gone missing immediately after? In his many years of exile, Thorin had not had the chance to learn of his father’s fate. And he continued to live in uncertainty and fear, searching for and asking of Thrain in bits and pieces, in the rare moments his duties as leader allowed for.

When Thorin heard the call of Erebor, he didn’t know whom it belonged to; he might have assumed it was the gold, the longing and desire that was in the hearts of Dwarves. But in his heart he knew it was something more: the call of a place that wanted to be a _home_ again.

As he made his first return to the Mountain, accompanied by nine out of his thirteen companions, could he have felt that his father was dying at the same time that he was getting ready to enter through the Hidden Door? When Thorin finally entered to find desolation and decay and a close image of his death, oh, how the Mountain felt his return, how it wanted to hold him in its embrace and offer him comfort for all his years of weeping!

When the king is sick, the kingdom becomes sick as well; yet sometimes it is the other way around. Thorin returned to find a sick Mountain, evil permeating its pillars, walls and floors, and its gold- and the sickness went from the place to the person. The gold madness took him immediately, no time to plan or protest, though Thorin knew what was happening to him, as he had seen what it had done to Thror, and never had Erebor felt so spent as when it saw Thorin break, sealed himself inside, seeking protection for and from it... and the Mountain received and offered none.

Then Thorin recovered, and the Mountain rejoiced, only to have the king be gravely wounded later that day! This it felt too, and could envision its king being buried deep beneath, and if the imminence of death were so hopeless and a reason for so much despair the Mountain may have sunk in its own pool of gold that day. Yet the hopelessness and despair it felt were for a different reason: it hurt to see him fall, the exiled king who turned so humble as to strip himself of his grandfather’s cloak and crown, and fought without his heavy-duty armor, ready to give up his life in order to change the course of the battle. It hurt to see him, the king who was supposed to return to his homeland in glory and reclaim it, with all hope of ruling with his love by his side, part with the person he had come to view as his One, with no time to express the words he had longed to say...

And Bilbo was there to witness it all from more or less of a distance, and feel it all within himself as his and Thorin’s bond continued to grow even in the dark of Thorin’s madness, and tried to keep his wits and not be taken with despair at the possible loss of his friend, and we all know he did the best he could... But the sickness that lay upon that treasure and enveloped the king’s mind, Bilbo could not entirely escape.

Then Thorin miraculously healed, and departed for a while, going to Mirkwood to be with his nephews and taking his love with him, and while Fili and Kili recovered under the overseeing eyes of the Woodland King, Thorin and Bilbo worked on healing their own wounds as best as they could, relearning trust and ever caring for each other; and the expression of their great friendship turned into an expression of love overnight, much like the oak tree that grew out of Bilbo’s acorn in one single night, in Thranduil’s garden...

Living without his wife for ages, it is not surprising that Thranduil was taken by a sickness of his own; and that his beloved Woodland Realm began to fall into shadow, some say was precisely due to its king’s sickness. And so desiring was he to return both himself and his kingdom to their former bliss, that he wished to use the Arkenstone, the heirloom of the House of Durin, which he had happened upon by lucky chance, for the purpose of bringing his wife back; as he correctly sensed that the jewel had power to restore life. And when Thorin arrived in his kingdom, he at once expressed how loath he was to part with the coveted stone, and began a long bargaining process whose terms kept changing. Of this it is written elsewhere; suffice to say that the presence of the Arkenstone in the Woodland Realm changed something in the dynamic of that place. The resurrection of Thranduil’s long-dead garden, which he had planted for his wife long ago, was not just a gift “from one king to another”, but also a gift from one _kingdom_ to another, just as the Arkenstone was not just the heart of Thorin as some called it, but also, more accurately, the heart of the Mountain. But that it performed this miracle at all was due primarily to the fact that _Thorin_ allowed the jewel to be in Mirkwood now, and accepted the whimsical wishes and behavior of his cunning and capricious host, who seemed genuinely lovesick one moment and desperately greedy the next. As Thorin understood that the Arkenstone no longer held his heart (how much it had held it even before is questionable), he was not resentful that his affections for the jewel had now been transferred to his long-time adversary. And thus the Arkenstone, sensing Thorin had made his peace on the subject, learned to live in Mirkwood and be sensitive to the pain and sorrow of its king.

As Thorin returned once more to Erebor, eager to catch up with its rebuilding and begin his rule, we might wonder how the Mountain felt now, seeing its king restored to full health and his love not gone or lost, but rising like a flame in the shadows of the unknown; and we might equally wonder how the Mountain might take the news that the precious Arkenstone, its heart, remained, for now, in Mirkwood...

* * *

“So. This is the hobbit.”

It was Bilbo’s first morning in Erebor, and as he stepped out of his room to go to the dining hall for breakfast, he found that the first order of business was meeting Thorin’s cousin, who was now standing before him, looking him up and down but thank Yavanna, not circling around him as Thorin had done back in Bag End...

“Bilbo, this is Dain, Lord of the Iron Hills. My cousin,” said Thorin as he held one hand on Dain’s shoulder and the other on Bilbo’s arm, nudging him to come closer.

“Nice to meet you,” said Bilbo, looking with great interest at the mighty Dwarf lord.

“Same here, Master Baggins,” said Dain, sending a big grin in Thorin’s direction. “I’ve heard a lot about you, though not from my cousin here; he has been very secretive.”

“And very busy discussing, you know, kingdom matters,” Thorin shot back, unfazed.

“W... what have you heard?” asked Bilbo nervously.

“Oh, mainly that you really managed to impress... some people,” Dain said, grinning at Thorin again. “That you are skilled with words, and brave, and very intelligent. And patient, I might add; since you are still here. So anyway,” he turned to Thorin, “what did you two want to talk to me about?”

“I haven’t told him yet,” Thorin said to Bilbo. “I was hoping we can do so now, over breakfast.” Bilbo gave him a nod, and Thorin proceeded while all three sat at their reserved table. “Cousin, we wanted to ask a favor of you. Master Baggins has a ring that has helped us at times during our quest, but has also proven to be an annoyance this last month. To come to the point, we have learned that the ring has power that could work great evil if brought to Erebor. And since we’re in Erebor now, I thought we’d offer it to you, until Master Baggins is ready to leave the Mountain. Just for safekeeping. As you’re due to leave in a few days, I thought you could take it with you.”

“Why didn’t you leave it with the elf?” Dain inquired.

“It appears the ring could be dangerous in the hands of an Elf. Or a Man,” said Thorin.

“Ha! _Everything_ is dangerous in the hands of an elf; especially in those of that pointy-eared princess! Now, can I see this ring?” said Dain with eyebrows raised and curiosity piqued.

“Not here,” said Thorin. “This is a secret matter.”

“It’s a simple ring, nothing special,” said Bilbo.

“Then why can’t I see it? What’s the big deal?” asked Dain, looking impatient and a bit infuriated.

“All right.” Bilbo pulled the ring out of his pocket and held it out for Dain.

“Mmm. And what powers did you say it has?”

“Well, when I put it on it makes me invisible. Which can come in handy sometimes. But at the same time... it makes me a little disconnected from myself. Insincere,” Bilbo added with some hesitation.

“And do you think it would have the same effect on its next owner?” asked Dain.

“Owner?” said Bilbo with a frown. “You see yourself as owning it already?”

“Chill out. Its next borrower, if you like that better.”

“Yes, I do believe it would, if seeing what it did to its previous owner is any indication.”

“But it probably depends on the race, Dain,” Thorin interjected hastily, and Bilbo immediately perceived he had said too much. “We’re Dwarves; it’s not going to affect us the same way.”

“And you can get... well you won’t easily want to part with it,” Bilbo added in an attempt to be thorough and anything but insincere.

“Then how come _you_ ’re all right parting with it?”

Bilbo just looked at Thorin explanatorily.

“You guys are too obvious,” Dain remarked, this time bellowing a great laugh. _You know nothing_ , Bilbo thought in amusement. _We sure were oblivious in Mirkwood. I can only hope at least one of us can be_ _ **obvious**_ _here in Erebor!_ “But innocently so,” Dain continued. “My dear Master Baggins, I’m greatly tempted by your trinket. Let me send a raven to the Iron Hills to get my wife’s view on this matter. Once the bird comes back with her response, positive, I expect, knowing my sweet _Ghivashel_ , you can count on me for guarding your little treasure.”

“Wait,” said Thorin worriedly. “It’s probably best not to tell your wife. This is a great secret. The more people know about it, the more people will want it. The ring needs to stay hidden.”

“You’re asking me to hide things from my wife?!” said Dain with thunder in his voice.

“Well, just this one thing,” Thorin replied.

“If you’re sure that she’s not going to tell anyone, though...” Bilbo tried, feeling on Dain’s side; he knew very well how keeping things from Thorin had worked out for him.

“Ummm...” Dain looked at both of them like they were idiots, “Guys. Let me clue you into a little thought experiment. Suppose I come home and don’t tell her anything. Then one day she rummages through my pockets, or my drawers, or what have you, and comes across this thing. A ring. All right? Thorin, I know I can’t count on you for exquisite mental gymnastics, but I expected more of you, Master riddle-maker and babble- sorry, I meant barrel-rider. What am I doing with this thing? Whom is it for? Why have I kept it secret?”

“But don’t you Dwarves love only once?” Bilbo asked; he really wanted to slap himself the next moment, but carried on anyway, sensing Thorin’s amusement. “She’s your One, right? What reason would she have to be jealous?”

“Women, Master Baggins,” Dain retorted philosophically. “I don’t explain them; I’m just married to one of them. Trust me, your reasoning does not apply to her. She’ll chop my head off and that’ll be the end of it.”

“Let his wife have it, Thorin!” Bilbo pleaded. “What does it matter? The ring will most likely be harmless in her hands.”

“She might tell people,” Thorin said. “Does she know how to keep a secret, Dain?”

“Not when it comes to jewelry,” Dain answered proudly. “She’ll probably want to decorate the ring and show it off, and as long as the ring is not on her finger it sounds like that can be done. Look, Thorin, I don’t have all day. Come to me with this again tomorrow. In the meantime, I’ll tell you what, if I can’t help you by taking it, I can at least stay here longer and help if trouble does indeed hit Erebor. Some of my dwarves are still here, and more dwarves are coming from other parts. We should be great enough in number to fight off whatever harm comes your way.” He rose, and slapped Thorin’s shoulder hard, while smiling at Bilbo in sweet approval, what for, Bilbo had no clue. “Later, guys. Time to get busy.”

Thus ended Bilbo’s first conversation with Dain, whom he found to certainly be a great asset to Erebor, and a fond attachment grew instantly as he perceived not only the dwarf’s no-nonsense personality but also his deep bond with Thorin. After breakfast, Dain left immediately with a group of dwarves to work on cleaning up the Mountain, which was a nasty business very much still in progress; and Thorin asked Bilbo if he needed anything and inquired if he had any plans for the day. “I was going to check out the library,” said Bilbo, already seeing where this was going. Thorin was leaving to oversee some project too, no doubt. “I will plan on seeing you in a little while,” said Thorin and made to depart quickly, seeming like he was planning something, only to run into Ori the next second, who was looking for him and asked to have a word.

Bilbo remained standing at the table, following them with his gaze, and saw Ori nudge Thorin toward a corner and hand him an envelope, saying something like “Gandalf left a note for you.” Thorin nodded in thanks, and Ori left with a sad, concerned expression on his face; and Thorin took a few steps out of the dining hall, and Bilbo followed him at a distance. He saw him open the envelope and at first it seemed he was reading while walking; then Thorin suddenly stopped and leaned forward, almost falling, and let out an anguished cry. Then he sank into the floor, oblivious to the fact that he was still in the hallway.

Bilbo came closer to him until he stood behind him, and placed his hands on his shoulders. “What is it, Thorin?” he asked, thinking for a second that this perhaps had to do with the spell Gandalf may not have managed to remove after all. “My father,” answered Thorin in sorrow, “the note says my father is dead. Gandalf found him in Dol Guldur, and couldn’t save him. He came to me from another world, Bilbo... he came when he was already dead. That must have been the place where he died, the place I saw in my dream... Dol Guldur. I never thought to search there. I failed him...” he said between sobs. Bilbo kneeled behind him and held him in his arms, and they stayed like that for a long time, until Thorin’s heart quieted and his tears dried. “Go on with your day, and I will come find you later...” he said to Bilbo as he shakily rose from the ground.

Bilbo went back to his room, only to be visited by an enthusiastic Dori minutes later, who carried a massive cloth bag with him.

“Master Baggins! Now that you are here, I can finally present you with a gift long in the making,” he said in a very serious tone as he started pulling some clothing out of the bag.

“A gift... for me? Thank you, Dori, you are most kind! What is it?”

“Three gifts, actually,” said Dori. “They are clothing items that Thorin asked me to make for you while you all were in Mirkwood. Here they are,” and he handed them to Bilbo. The first was a simple yellow shirt in the style he was used to wearing in the Shire; the second was a blue tunic that vaguely resembled the outfit that Thorin had worn in the first part of their quest, though with a pattern of stars mixed with the geometrical shapes specific to Durin’s line. And the third was a green coat, its color a mix between the light, bright green of the Shire and the heavier, darker green of Erebor; and with it came a sturdy brown Dwarvish belt engraved with runes.

“Oh, wow,” Bilbo exclaimed, “these are beautiful! And... colorful,” he added, quite amused. “Really, I think it goes without saying that my wardrobe needed a makeover! You are so talented! I’m curious though, how did you know my exact measurements? I don’t recall any of you taking any at any point!”

“There are many ways to “take your measurements”, some of which require only a skilled enough and motivated dwarf, if you know what I mean,” Dori replied, watching as Bilbo was trying on the clothes. “Ah. There you are. Perfect fit.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” said Bilbo, eager to examine and admire his new clothes some more, “and I don’t know how to thank you for this.”

“I’ll take your compliments,” said Dori, “though I merely executed these designs. I’ll see you later, Master Baggins.”

_I wonder how far back this scheme goes,_ thought Bilbo as he couldn’t take his eyes off the three gifts. He decided he was in the mood for wearing the blue tunic, so he put it on and left the room, determined to enjoy the majesty of the Mountain from the inside. _Perhaps I can fit in this place after all!_

Erebor.

If he could sit alone for a few hours, taking it all in...

It was... well, it was very _vertical_ , and yet wondrously spacious. But nothing like the type of space the Shire offered - unlimited, bright, green. By contrast, Erebor seemed limited, dark, and... well, green, surprisingly. _Dwarf-style green, that is_ , thought Bilbo.

To be _inside_ a mountain. The air had a different quality here. Rock, cold, earth. The air smelled like all these.

He now realized he had not made for the library. Instead, he was on the same high platform from where he had first beheld the treasure hoard of Erebor. He was sitting on the steps, staring at the pillars in the distance.

“Bilbo...”

He turned to see Thorin standing behind him with a torch in his hand.

“I thought I’d find you here. I wanted to show you around, if you’d like.”

Bilbo did not miss the glimmer of happiness in Thorin’s eyes as he beheld his blue tunic. Yet Thorin didn’t mention it, and Bilbo quietly followed him down, down, down, until they reached a part of the Mountain that contained a massive, tall rock-like structure, with rooms carved at different levels, some connected via ladders attached with rope, others connected via steps also carved in the rock.

“I told you about this place when we were in Rivendell,” said Thorin. “I was born at the bottom of this rock.”

“I remember,” said Bilbo, though he didn’t have to. He knew that Thorin knew he remembered. He quietly took Thorin’s hand and moved closer to the great rock to examine the different rooms, though he still felt at a great distance.

“My father ordered this to be built when my mother was pregnant with me,” said Thorin. “It is like a mini-kingdom, that he wanted me to have as I was growing up, so I could have a peek at “the business of ruling” through a kind of game. These are all child-sized rooms. Each room in this rock is designed for a specific purpose: one for reading, one for training with weapons, one for playing musical instruments, and so on. There is even a pretend king’s office here.”

“So... this was your playground. Wow,” said Bilbo, a little lost for words. It was so much like something his own parents would have done for him, except _at a higher scale, literally and figuratively_ , he observed with a laugh; a vertical playground that involved lots of climbing, what a notion!

“I felt trapped here, at times. I wanted to be outside,” Thorin continued. “Yet I grew so close to this place. A part of me likes it best here. This place feels me, and I feel it. This rock... I’ve always returned here in my mind, even while I was away. And it is just as I left it. I feel I can draw great strength from it.”

_Yet for me, this place reminds me... of your death_ , thought Bilbo. Suddenly he saw clearly in his mind the image of Thorin lying in the tomb beneath the Mountain, the scene he had had access to a few nights before, while sharing an intimate moment with Thorin. _Did I really see that happening as if in a different world, or did I just imagine it while_ _ **here**_ _, as I was remembering our night in Mirkwood? Did the Mountain itself inject an image into my stream of memories?_ He found he couldn’t tell for certain, _but surely something feels strange here, it’s almost as if this place... witnessed Thorin’s death happening somehow, or it feared that it could happen, and wanted to impart that image to me..._

“Thorin...” he said eventually, jolting himself back to the present reality, “the clothes Dori gave me earlier... He mentioned you ordered them for me.”

“Do you like them?”

“I like them very much. I wanted to thank you, and to ask if you had anything in mind when you selected the colors.”

“Yellow is for what was,” said Thorin cryptically. “Blue is for what is. And green... for what has not yet come to pass.”

“All right, that is very... condensed,” said Bilbo. “Maybe give me the long, explicit version?”

“Yellow is for what you left behind. The sunny Shire. Blue is for where you are now, the kingdom of Durin’s folk. And green is for... where I hope you will be.”

“And where is that?”

“In a place that blends your Shire with my kingdom... if that’s possible,” said Thorin. Of course, as it is written elsewhere, this was not all that Thorin had in mind; part of his symbolism was more direct: yellow was the color he attributed to Bilbo, his sunshine, blue was his own color, and green was, naturally, the combination of the two. This information Thorin was not yet ready to share with Bilbo, for as you may also recall, Thorin felt that offering _something of great importance_ to his beloved absolutely needed to precede any overt declaration of his intentions. Yet he didn’t lie in making the color association be about time and places; as we will see, such a connection, between places, persons, and _time_ , definitely exists in our story...

And as they sat there, Bilbo realized that the closer Thorin was to his home, the further he was from his own. And he wondered how his home was doing, if his beloved Bag End missed him, and if the Shire’s soil ever felt so deeply as the rocks in this Mountain. And he felt how far he was from home, and understood and accepted that his longing for the Shire would always be there; maybe he’ll learn to live with it for the sake of being near Thorin; or maybe there _could_ be such a place that could mix the two homes together...

If such is the connection between a person and a place, we might wonder how much stronger is the connection between two persons...

And if these two persons are indeed one soul in two bodies, or two halves of a whole - albeit very different - we might wonder how deep the mystery of their love runs and whether we can really understand it...

And if all things _are_ eternal, we might wonder if by merely allowing themselves to _feel_ the love between them they could touch eternity even in the _now_ , within this Mountain who seemed to be made for things eternal... the Mountain that now enclosed them in its embrace as they sat together staring at the rock of Thorin’s birthplace, vibrating with them, happy that tonight it found no dying, but its king safe in his love’s arms, alive and warm.


	2. In The Darkness of His Absence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dain and Balin attempt an intervention on Thorin, who has been working too hard. After overhearing dwarves gossiping, Bilbo decides to visit Thorin’s rooms at night.

A month passed since Thorin had arrived in Erebor with his nephews, Tauriel, Bilbo and the Fundin brothers. It was one late morning when Dwalin walked to Thorin’s quarters, accompanied by an exasperated Dain and a concerned Balin. Dwalin was one of the few possessors of a duplicate key to Thorin’s suite, and after numerous pleas from his brother, he finally agreed to unlock the door to said suite, and let the other two dwarves in. The three shook their heads in disapproval as they beheld Thorin lying on his living room couch, looking trashed.

“We won’t be long,” Balin whispered to Dwalin. “Thanks for letting us in. Mahal knows it’s time for an intervention.”

“Mmm-hmm,” groaned Dwalin, unconvinced. “It’s Thorin we’re talking about. He won’t listen to anyone.” He left, locking the door behind him, at whose sound Thorin shifted slightly, reached for a pillow, and dug his fingers into it.

“Good morning!” shouted Dain as he took a seat.

Thorin opened his eyes instantly. “What is it? Has something happened?” he asked in panic.

“All is good. We just want to talk to you,” said Balin.

Thorin sat up and stretched his muscles. “What is this about?”

“It’s about the fact that you hardly sleep; you barely eat. You spend night and day locked in meetings and paperwork, not to mention manual labor.”

“Balin, have you seen how much there is to do in this Mountain? I was gone for two months, as you well know; and there aren’t that many of us here.”

“If you insist on exerting yourself cleaning up after Smaug, why not let Fili in charge of some of the more... kingly duties? Like meeting with each and every person who has a need and answering their requests?”

“Fili is still recovering,” Thorin replied. “When his mother arrives, I’ll consider it. But that won’t be for another three months. Until then, he and Kili still need to take it easy.”

Balin sent a discouraged look in Dain’s direction, at which point the latter took the matter into his own hands.

“All right, cousin. Let’s cut to the chase. Pardon my intrusion, but what’s the situation with that hobbit of yours??”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, he’s not going to stay here forever, if you’re not going to make a move! Or is he? Do you intend to pursue him or not?”

Thorin looked down. “I do,” he said softly.

“Well? Then what are you waiting for? I only saw the two of you together when you introduced us, and maybe once or twice after that. _When_ do you see him? And why isn’t there a formal announcement about the two of you?”

“I _don’t_ get to see him,” said Thorin. “There is always someone who needs something, and a mountain of work. Every day. By the time I’m done with everything, it’s almost morning.”

“Just what I was saying,” Balin jumped in. “Do you see the problem, Thorin? You work too hard and accept no help. Master Baggins is going to slip through your fingers.”

“Hold on a second,” said Dain. “Why can’t you see him when it’s _almost morning_? That would surely be better than nothing!”

“Because I can’t. I don’t want to disturb him at an hour when he’s probably sleeping. I want to do this properly, make a declaration of intent first, and find out what is and what is not acceptable to him. Then, if he’s all right with being bothered in the middle of the night...”

“I can tell you right now that he would be _delighted_ to be thus bothered,” said Dain. “I saw the way he looks at you. He is probably miserable that you _don’t_ seek him out at night.”

“Dain,” Thorin gave him a menacing look, “surely you are familiar with our courting traditions?”

“Mmm. Let’s see. Mahal knows I courted my wife up the yin-yang before she agreed to marry me. Therefore, yes, I sure am.”

“Then you know there’s a certain order we do things in, and that the first priority is giving a courting gift. Which I haven’t done yet.”

“Sure you did. That mithril everyone is talking about. That’s a courting gift or I’m not a dwarf.”

“Dain,” Thorin continued unperturbed, “you are also aware that a courting gift can be _rejected_? Not that I’m suggesting it has ever happened to you.”

“Yes, I’m aware. So...?”

“Well, Master Baggins and I had a very bad fight hours after I gave him that gift. He was gravely displeased with me, I threatened to kill him, and... thank Mahal, I only banished him, which in itself is unacceptable. You weren’t there, but I assure you, the rumors are true. All this _did_ happen.”

“But I saw him wear the mithril recently! In fact, rumor has it he was wearing it even while you two had your little pow-wow on the day of the battle!”

“Master Baggins doesn’t know the significance of the gift,” Balin chimed in.

“The fact that he continued to wear it or that he wore it during our unfortunate conflict is of no consequence,” said Thorin. “Surely you see that I can’t be courting him and threaten to throw him off the wall at the same time. By performing the latter I thereby annuled the courting I had initiated. So, I have to start over.”

“Blast. I didn’t think of that,” said Dain dejectedly. “If you ask me, you should just clue him into the meaning of this gift, and explain to him how rare and expensive it is, and be done with it. I guarantee he’ll accept it along with your proposal, or declaration, or whatever. And then you can hit his bedroom whenever you’re finished with your work for the day, even if that means in the wee hours of the morning. He’ll probably help you out with your work if...”

“Is that what you would do? If this were your wife that you intend on courting?” asked Thorin with great curiosity.

“If this were my wife... Oh. Crap,” Dain answered. His eyes suddenly grew extraordinarily big, and he looked scared as hell. “I... I take it back. My wife would chop my head off if I tried to recycle a gift during our courtship phase. In fact, if I messed up the first time she’d make me court her with double the value of the initial gift. Not that I’m suggesting this ever happened to me! Ugh. Forget it. Although, I say, your Master Baggins seems cut from a different cloth. Based on the soppiness I’ve seen between you two, if I may go there...”

“No, you may not,” Thorin interrupted.“Now if there is a further point, please feel free to make it.”

“The point is, Thorin, you’re exerting yourself and you’ve neglected your love life,” said Balin simply.

“ _And_ I still don’t know what you’re planning for a new courting gift,” said Dain. “Not that it’s my business, but if there’s any way I can help speed up the procedure...”

“I _have_ been working on something, and I have help,” said Thorin. “It’s just taking a long time.”

“Then why not choose something else? We dwarves have all manner of gifts we can offer. How hard is it to make a necklace in the forge, or beads to put in his hair, or a sword, a dagger, an axe...?”

“Not hard, but _hardly_ something he would appreciate, I think,” said Thorin. “No, Dain. He is not a dwarf and he is not a warrior, although I would love to...” he stopped himself abruptly, his eyes full of longing. “Our beads and weapons would mean nothing to him.”

“I really feel you’re overthinking this, Thorin,” said Balin gently. “Bilbo would take _anything_ from you. No offense to you or your wife, Dain.”

“None taken,” Dain shot back. “Perhaps you rather mean no offense to Master Baggins and my pitiful cousin here.”

Thorin sighed, ignoring Dain’s remark. “Perhaps he would accept our types of gifts. I just...” Yet he decided not to open a subject painfully difficult for him.

“All right, cousin. I’ll give you one more month. If things don’t progress between the two of you... let me rephrase, if _you_ don’t make visible progress in courting your hobbit, I myself will find both of you, lock you in a room together and keep you there until you declare your love.”

“There are many ways to declare love, if you know what I mean,” Balin observed with a smirk, “some of which don’t quite help Thorin’s present cause. You have to be more specific, Dain.”

At this moment Thorin’s patience left him, and he lifted one arm and pointed to the door, eyeing both of them with more indignation than he felt. “Dain, Balin... the door is that way. And please knock next time.”

“Oh, we’ll be sure to,” said Dain with a big laugh. “ _Next time_ we won’t want to interrupt anything,” and he and Balin exited, leaving an unsettled Thorin rising from the couch with a big yawn.

* * *

Two doors down from Thorin, an even more unsettled hobbit was absently flipping through the pages of a journal he had begun writing in, where he intended to document his stay in Erebor. The last written page looked as follows:

_Things that I did during my first month in Erebor:_

_\- saw a lot of the Company;_

_\- checked out the library and read all the books provided to me upon my arrival;_

_\- saw all the dwarves in the Company regularly;_

_\- began reading my first book in Khuzdul, which helps me keep up with learning this language;_

_\- spent a lot of time with the Company;_

_\- saw very little of Thorin._

The Mountain was anything but lonely now. Yet he... In those last few weeks, Bilbo had begun feeling more and more that the attribute “lonely” the Mountain had passed on to him.

Thorin and Dain had discussed the ring again a few times, but their conversation had not progressed beyond arguing about the secrecy factor in relation to Dain’s wife. “The ring will probably make him even more secretive; you can’t blame him for wanting to nip the problem in the bud,” Bilbo observed to Thorin. “I am concerned. We need to get rid of this ring soon,” Thorin said, and Bilbo sought to reassure him, “I have reason to believe that you’ll be protected.” “It’s not me that I’m worried about,” said Thorin, and they left it at that, for now.

Things didn’t seem so bad on the ring front. Bilbo was beginning to feel confident in the success of his efforts at sending strong protection in Thorin’s way, as he had done with the help of the Arkenstone and the statue of Thranduil’s wife in Mirkwood. Thorin did not exhibit any sign of madness or any weakness, really, which was amazing, considering he spared no effort every day, overseeing restoration projects, meeting with advisors, making plans for Erebor’s future, and trying to answer the many different needs of both Dwarves and Men living in the Mountain. The only troublesome thing was that Bilbo saw very little of him.

Thorin had said something to him shortly after their arrival. “I want to make this Mountain into a second home for you.” Then he had hesitated. “I know it does not have a homey feel to it right now. But I want to-” and he had looked at him with something new, a special, undefined sparkle in his eyes.

In the meantime, as Bilbo’s journal indicated, there was no shortage of time spent with the Company. Every day, like clockwork, he’d get breakfast, elevenses, lunch, afternoon tea, dinner and supper, always a dwarf from the Company inviting him to consume the meals in the dining hall or, if Bilbo was otherwise engaged, bringing the meal to him wherever he was. At the end of supper (which he usually took in his room), Bombur would come personally to collect his plate and ask him if he was in the mood for anything in particular for the next day.

Aside from that, the dwarves offered to teach Bilbo different crafts, and to help Bilbo identify his favorite craft. Every week he had lessons, which included sword-fighting and archery with Fili and Kili, axe wielding with Dwalin (which Bilbo quickly determined was not his craft of choice), clothes making with Dori, discussing history and literature with Ori, and cooking with Bombur. Nori came in once and asked very respectfully if Bilbo would be interested in learning the art of spying, and equally politely Bilbo said no, thanks, maybe another time; still, they spent quality time chatting about Nori’s profession, which came in handy at times and which Bilbo was able to appreciate.

There were a few things he wanted to learn, such as more Khuzdul, playing the harp, and working in the forge. The dwarves disclosed that they were not cleared for teaching him those subjects. _Thorin will_ _instruct_ _you_ _in_ _those_ , they said, and Bilbo didn’t bring them up again. Khuzdul, at least, he was able to teach himself now that he had access to books.

Thorin. The subject was painful. _The way he missed Thorin_ was painful. Some nights were almost impossible to endure, despite the happy times spent during the day in the company of his friends. He wanted to go to Thorin’s quarters, all propriety forgotten, and continue what they had started in Mirkwood; and he did venture in the hallway one night, walking casually as if he was just minding his own business but actually trying to scout the territory, when his eyes caught sight of two dwarves stationed at the door to Thorin’s rooms. They looked like the imposing statues he had seen adorn the bridges inside Erebor, only smaller, but somehow more menacing, as these were alive and wearing real armor and holding real axes in their hands. Quickly, Bilbo realized that dwarves meant business when it came to protecting their king. Even with the ring on, he wouldn’t have been able to completely sneak past them!

Thorin had said that if Bilbo ran into any sort of trouble, he was welcome to come to his rooms at night. But so far the only trouble that Bilbo had encountered was... well, the absence of Thorin in his room, _in his bed_ , if he was to be precise; and he decided that didn’t count as real trouble, especially since he had heard it mentioned many times that Thorin was so busy that he rarely slept. He didn’t want to bother his rest, if he _was_ resting.

Today, however, Bilbo’s mind was going to change, as we will see shortly, which resulted in his attempt to put a stop to this state of waiting indefinitely. What prompted this change began with a conversation he heard at dinner between some of Dain’s dwarves, who were sitting at a table behind him and were rather loud. Now, Bilbo was by all means a beginner in all things Khuzdul; yet after a while he was able to make out that the dwarves were talking about a gorgeous lady dwarf who had recently arrived in Erebor, and who they thought would make an ideal partner for Thorin!

“If the king chooses to settle down, it’s gotta be with her,” said one of the dwarves.

“That’s a big _if_ ,” said another. “From what I know he’s not interested in love at all. They say the art of war is his craft, and his sword, his great love.”

“No, you both got it all wrong,” a third dwarf jumped in. “Wasn’t he interested in that hobbit from the Shire? I saw the dude still wears the mithril from time to time.”

“Yeah, but the hobbit did not reciprocate,” the first dwarf replied. “Don’t you remember, he betrayed Thorin and was banished as a result. He was lucky Thorin went easy on him. The king is probably too much of a gentledwarf to ask for the mithril back.”

There was a short silence, then the same dwarf spoke again. “I don’t think he ever had any serious intentions towards the hobbit, though. He probably just wanted to have some fun with him before settling down.”

“That’s an expensive way to have fun!” the third dwarf protested.

“Maybe. Don’t forget they were facing a battle. The king must not have exactly been thinking clearly.”

“Wow, it must be awkward for them now. What could the hobbit still be doing here, I wonder?” the second dwarf asked.

“Biding his time until he can go back to his home, I’ll wager. Mark my words, we will soon see King Thorin engaged. Craft or not, hobbit or not, that brunette beauty over there will steal his heart like no other.”

Bilbo looked around, curious to see which lady they were talking about. She was not hard to detect, as she was the only female at her table, and many male dwarves were swarming around her. She _was_ beautiful, and elegant, and well-mannered; would she be Thorin’s type? Bilbo wondered. He had no idea. His head was about to explode. He got up and made for his room immediately, feeling sick and disgusted.

It sounded, not for the first time, like the mithril thing was a bigger deal than he could comprehend, and that he had messed something up “big time”. The idea that Thorin would just want to indulge in some “adventures” with him before settling down seemed ludicrous, and if he hadn’t remembered that his learning Khuzdul was supposed to be a secret he would have turned around from his table and given those ignorant dwarves a piece of his mind!

He soon fell asleep, seeking to ease his troubled mind, and thus skipped supper entirely; and the voice of his nightmares was back, and called his name, wasting no time in trying to capitalize on his newfound insecurity.

“Don’t start,” he said threateningly. “Thorin’s One was supposed to be dead, according to you.”

“I thought she was. I didn’t know she was still alive until now. It’s a complicated story. She was a baby at the time Smaug attacked the Mountain. I thought she perished that day, but it looks like someone rescued her and raised her elsewhere. Anyway, she and Thorin met at last, just a couple of weeks ago, and I can tell you he is smitten with her; this is the reason why he doesn’t see you anymore. You may think he’s burning the midnight oil immersed in work, but actually, things are progressing so quickly that he has spent the last few nights with her. Speaking of which, at least you can grant me that I warned you not to let him go back to the Mountain. But it matters not; he has found his One, and there is nothing much anyone can do about it now.”

“I don’t want to hear it,” said Bilbo. _I was told there would be trouble because of this blasted ring. Perhaps this is how the trouble starts_ _, with this being that is downright e_ _v_ _il_ _; I will_ _guard myself_ _from_ _its silly suggestions_ _. I will_ _!_

“Do you want to see for yourself?” said the voice, and Bilbo was suddenly surrounded with a vision of the attractive dwarrowdam locked in a tender embrace with Thorin, her hair a luscious black, flowing in ringlets, shining in the light of dozens of wonderfully crafted candles... He was kissing her with so much adoration that Bilbo had never seen before, compared to which his brief moments with Thorin in Mirkwood could indeed be regarded as pure lust and nothing more!

“This is a dream!” he said furiously. “How stupid do you think I am?”

“You’re right; it is. Just go to his rooms and you will see the real thing,” the voice said, and vanished instantly.

Bilbo thought about this in a variety of ways before deciding to act. He was a person with much common sense, and as of late, with nerves of steel; he perceived that this was most likely a temptation, possibly caused by the ring, or by his very own fragile state, as he did feel especially insecure and uncomfortable this evening. Perhaps the ring wanted to be used. He wasn’t going to give in; he had no reason to. However, Thorin had said Bilbo could go visit him if there was trouble, and Bilbo was certainly feeling troubled now! Of course, if Thorin really was engaged in a display of affection with the dark-haired lady it might be time to bust out the ring, but... Bilbo did not want to think that far, as he could feel the food so lovingly cooked and shared by Bombur threaten to exit his stomach in a most unpleasant way; a great pity that would be!

So, without wearing the ring, he decided to go and investigate, and in no time he was standing demandingly before the two statue-like dwarves.

“You must be Master Baggins,” said one of the two. “Do you wish to go in and see the king?”

“That is correct. May I?”

“He is not in,” said the other. “You can try again later,” and Bilbo wished he could snap his fingers and turn both of them into statues for a few minutes, just enough for him to try to open the door...

“Master Baggins is allowed in the king’s quarters at all times,” the other dwarf said. “Remember? He can feel free to make use of these rooms and everything in them, even in the king’s absence. The order was very clear, from King Thorin himself.”

“Very well,” the other dwarf conceded. “Go on in, Master Baggins.”

So they unlocked the door and let Bilbo in, _well, would you look at_ _that_. He entered and viewed the room suspiciously. Thorin had a living room; that was all he could see. There must have been a bedroom somewhere, and Bilbo wondered if perhaps he should just leave it at this and go back; perhaps he wasn’t ready to witness... but he did advance towards the bedroom, and took a peek inside. It was empty, the sheets neatly arranged on the bed. He entered and looked closely, trying to detect any evidence of dwarves fooling around on that bed, or any sign betraying the presence of a woman. There was none. However, one object caught Bilbo’s attention: a majestic wardrobe next to Thorin’s bed, impossible to miss. _If that lady is spending nights here, surely there must be some evidence in that closet_ , thought Bilbo, and without further ado opened the wardrobe and looked inside.

It was so big, so spacious, and there was nothing in it. No clothes, no hangers, and certainly no lady’s perfumes or hats or anything like that.

The second thing Bilbo noticed was that the wardrobe lay directly on the stone floor of the room. How strange! _Perhaps he hides this lady in here at night_ , he thought with great amusement, _no, that cannot be, surely such a delicate being would protest at this treatment!_ _Hmm_ _m_ _. Why don’t I go_ _in_ _and see what it’s all about?_ And he went inside the wardrobe, and great was his surprise to see, on one of its sides, five rows of buttons, each button inscribed with a rune in the Khuzdul alphabet.

He tried to press some of the buttons, and each made a _click_ sound, and upon further inspection he saw a separate button, below the alphabet. _A password system? For what?_ he wondered with a frown. No doubt some great secret fit for a king. But since those two big softie dwarf guards expressed that he was allowed to use anything in Thorin’s rooms, he half-seriously thought, _why don’t I give it a try?_ So he pressed the buttons a few times playfully, then he made a small effort to think what was something Thorin really cared about, _his nephews_ _would be my first guess_ , so he spelled _irakdashshat_ by pressing the buttons, and as soon as he hit the button below he heard the doors of the wardrobe close. And now he saw that they were double doors, one set functioning as outside doors for the wardrobe, and the other as doors of what this wardrobe really hosted, which was an elevator. The inside doors revealed yet another button; he pressed it without thinking, and felt the elevator moving. “What...” he gasped, and before he knew it, he was being taken down to a lower level of the Mountain.

Now, he was satisfied that Thorin would have allowed him to use his rooms for whatever purpose, but surely he was not allowed to venture to some secret place that probably only the king had access to! _Do you see the problem, Bilbo Baggins? You always have to stick your nose where it doesn’t belong!_

His trip lasted only a few seconds, and as the elevator stopped, the doors opened and he could easily step outside. Where was he? The area was unfamiliar; it looked about the size of his house in Bag End, but empty, and thus seemed mighty vast. He grabbed a lantern he spotted on a table next to the elevator, and found that he was stepping on actual soil. Upon closer examination, it looked like grass had attempted to grow there, along with flowers here and there; very recent attempts, obviously unsuccessful, he thought. Stems had emerged out of the ground only to wilt rapidly. _Hmmm. Whoever is trying this is not doing it right_. He looked around and saw a wall of stone and a door, and, something rare in these parts, the wall had windows! He opened the door, and now he was outside Erebor, and could finally tell that this was the “ground floor” of the Mountain. The outside area was enclosed with rocks, and looked a little more promising for gardening purposes. _This would be a good place for Thorin’s acorn_ , he thought with great excitement.

But was Thorin the one involved in these endeavors? _Gardening surely must be small potatoes in a place like Erebor_ _;_ _hardly_ _a top_ _secret_ _kingly affair_ _!_ Bilbo went back to examine what he spontaneously baptized “the failed garden area” some more, and returned to the table, which held a few sheets of paper on top, some written in Elvish and some written in Westron, describing instructions for growing a garden. The table also had drawers, which contained various paper bags containing seeds, labeled with Elvish words on them.

_Could this be Kili trying to grow a garden for Tauriel? This can’t be Tauriel herself carrying on such a dismal display; surely she’d have more success!_ He remembered how Kili had told him about the elaborate process of courting by Dwarven traditions, which involved the offering of special gifts that often times required some patience as they took a long time to make. _Merciful Yavanna, I hope poor Tauriel is not being subjected to such a long process!_ he sighed with much pity towards the gentle elf maid. _Well, at least the area is lit, judging by the presence of these windows..._

_Y_ _es, this must be Kili_ , he thought further. _That is why the password_ _to this place_ _is “nephews”. Thorin is probably letting Kili operate from his own room, for secrecy’s sake. If this elevator connected to Kili’s bedroom, Tauriel may discover it. Well. Sorry, Kili. I guess I found out your secret_ _; not to worry, I won_ _’_ _t tell anyone._

He went back to the elevator, as he could see no other easy way of going back. He didn’t know the Mountain that well yet, and was quite afraid of getting lost. _And if Thorin has returned in the meantime?_ _How will you explain to him that you_ _ventured inside his wardrobe?_ He tried and tried, but no good explanation came to him. _I’ll just... maybe I won’t have to talk at all_ , he thought with a wicked grin. _I’ll just say that missing him has made me do... unusual things, and that this is his fault._

He went back up, and to his relief Thorin was still not anywhere in sight. He exited first the wardrobe, then the bedroom, and then the whole suite, only to be faced with the same guards, who were standing still as always, while Fili and Kili were buzzing around them, looking restless.

“We heard some noise. Is everything all right, Bilbo?” asked Fili.

“Y... yes. I was just... looking for Thorin.”

“Yeah, no such luck I’m afraid... Poor Uncle just got some bewildering news, and he’s having a late night meeting with Dain as we speak,” Kili volunteered eagerly.

“He just received word from Mirkwood. Thranduil is fuming like a furnace; apparently, the Arkenstone disappeared about three days ago.”

“...and Thranduil suspects it’s Thorin’s doing, somehow. He says in his letter, _Who else could it be other than_ _ **you**_ _, foolish dwarf king? After all I’ve done for you..._ blah, blah blah...”

“But how? How would Thorin be involved in this, since he has been here this whole month?” asked Bilbo.

“Thranduil thinks he sent someone to steal the Arkenstone from Mirkwood,” Fili replied.

“You, to be more precise,” Kili completed. “He thinks Thorin sent you _to do his dirty work in secret_ , he says. Because of, you know... your _uncanny capability to pass unnoticed_.”

“And so now Thorin is asking Dain to summon his army from the Iron Hills, because Thranduil wrote that if the Arkenstone doesn’t turn up in a week, he’s coming for you. And he won’t come alone, mind you.”

“Yeah, he said _The Arkenstone or the Halfling_...”

“This is madness!” said Bilbo. “And Dain? What is his position?”

“We don’t know yet. We’re waiting to find out when Uncle comes back.”

_So much for hoping to get some time alone with him, then_ , Bilbo thought to himself. He almost wished he had been caught snooping around in Thorin’s closet earlier rather than having to share his presence with anyone at this hour.

“All right. I’ll see you in the morning, boys,” he said and turned to walk towards his room, with a heavy heart, leaving Fili and Kili to marvel at his lack of interest in their news; news that at this moment, his mind simply did not have the space for.


	3. ...As I Believe In You, Tonight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin consults Mahal in prayer over the insuccess of his first courting endeavor. Bilbo receives an unexpected visit.  
> The song associated with this chapter is from Bilbo’s POV.

“Time

is never time at all

You can never ever leave

without leaving a piece of youth

And our lives are forever changed

We will never be the same

The more you change the less you feel

Believe

believe in me,

believe, believe

That life can change, that you’re not stuck in vain

We’re not the same, we’re different tonight

Tonight, so bright

Tonight

And you know you’re never sure

But you’re sure you could be right

If you held yourself up to the light

And the embers never fade

in your city by the lake

The place where you were born

Believe,

believe in me,

believe, believe

In the resolute urgency of now

And if you believe there’s not a chance tonight”

It was close to midnight when Thorin said good night to his cousin, exited his office and made his way underground.

At the same level with the rock of his birth, there was a place he had not shared with Bilbo yet: a small room, well-lit with ever-burning torches and oil lamps, with runes inscribed on the walls along with rough, ancient paintings depicting different tools and weapons.

It was a small sanctuary that the dwarves used in hours of need, for special moments of prayer to their Maker. Upon entering one could see an altar attached to the back wall, its surface shaped like a trapezoid with the wall side the longest and the opposite side the narrowest. A giant stone fist emerged out of the same wall, above the altar, and above the fist you could see the hint of a stone nose and beard. The dwarves had reverently sculpted the semblance of a statue in the rock, carefully leaving most of the mystery of their Maker untouched.

Bifur was waiting at the entrance to the sanctuary. Thorin gave him a side hug and a serious look, then entered alone, while Bifur remained outside, touching and bringing his ear close to the sanctuary’s walls, as if listening for something.

Thorin approached the altar and pulled out an object from his coat. It was a small metallic box in the shape of an octogon. When opened, it revealed eight triangular buttons, each a different shade of blue; when pushed, each button made a different sound.

This small musical instrument, made by his own hands, Thorin placed on the altar, and thus began his prayer.

“’ _uddel_ ,” he intoned earnestly. “My great Lord and Father of all fathers. I come to thank you for the blessings you’ve bestowed upon me and my kin...” He paused and breathed deeply, letting the words sink into his whole being, and then willing his body to release the energy contained in them, until he could feel it penetrate the surface of the altar.

“...to thank you for returning me to the world of the living...” He repeated the same process with slowness of breathing and movement.

“...to thank you for the healing of my _kedzȇl_ , Fili and Kili...”

“...to thank you for the wisdom you granted me in dealing with the elf king...”

“...to thank you for allowing me to finally learn what happened to my father, and giving me the strength to bear the pain...”

“...to thank you for not tearing me apart from the one I love...”

“...for gracing me with patience in my attempt to make him mine forever...” His hands, previously closed, opened slightly now, trembling as he touched the altar.

“...and the courage to do so even though I am unworthy.”

He paused in anguish, searching for more words.

“It is with him in mind that I come to you today, my Lord. I am at a loss; I need answers.”

He finally kneeled, and began telling his Maker about the gift that he had been working on with no success.

“At my request, the Elf lady brought a great variety of seeds of the highest quality from Mirkwood when she joined us in Erebor. She is the most knowledgeable person I can enlist the help of in such matters. She has given me great instructions, and advised me on the exact soil required for these particular plants to grow, which I also procured from Mirkwood. I have planted numerous seeds, maintained the right temperature and had windows placed to let sunlight in. She tells me everything is done properly; yet the flowers are not growing. My Lord... Is there anything I’ve done wrong, or that I’ve omitted? Please illumine my mind, so that I can succeed in my endeavor which I know will greatly please my beloved...”

Mahal was silent for now, and Thorin stayed there for a while, absorbed in prayer and chanting faintly, mixing his voice, here and there, with the various tones produced by the small instrument that lay on the altar. When he was finished, he asked Mahal to keep his offering and to remember his request, and moved towards the door.

“Bifur,” he addressed the dwarf who was waiting for him outside, “it’s your turn now. There is an answer Mahal will send in the rock of this Mountain; I am sure of it. If anybody could find it, _feel_ it, it is you. Stay here and try to identify it. As soon as you get the answer, come to me with it at once, no matter what time it is, or what I’m doing. Do you understand?” Bifur nodded solemnly. “This is top priority and cannot wait.”

Bifur went inside the sanctuary, taking in the altar and the statue-like structure above it. The surface of the altar was now empty.

As Thorin walked back towards his rooms, he began to feel a dissonance within himself, a shaking of elements that were usually static and strong; a presence flowing through him and wreaking disintegration in its wake. This triggered a feeling of panic, for he knew at once that his love’s spirit was feeling threatened, and he rushed to his rooms; and he ran into Fili and Kili who promptly asked him about his meeting with Dain. “He said he’d be glad to give those elves a good hammering,” said Thorin unenthusiastically. “His attitude actually scared me, to be honest; he seems a bit too eager to do so. On second thought, I’ve decided to wait and not send for his army yet; let it be a last resort. Instead I’m going to try to deal with Thranduil diplomatically.”

Fili and Kili stared at him in amused astonishment, as if he had just told them that dwarves enjoyed green food; he did not notice that as he asked, in alarm, if they had seen Bilbo.

“He was here half an hour ago, looking for you,” the brothers answered.

Thorin waved to them and proceeded directly to Bilbo’s room without further questions. To his relief, the door was unlocked, and he let himself in without knocking. Bilbo was curled up in his armchair with a blanket and his journal in his lap, the fireplace still running. Thorin sat on the floor at his feet and felt the tension and discord inside him begin to dissolve.

“You’re here,” he heard Bilbo’s voice; he sounded tired and unhappy.

Thorin looked deeply into his eyes. “I felt it,” he said worriedly. “Earlier. The disharmony in you. What happened?”

“It’s nothing,” said Bilbo. “I take it back. It’s not nothing. It’s _you_. You received bad news.”

“That cannot be all. You’re hiding something from me,” said Thorin. He was correct; but Bilbo was not of the mind to share his great discomfort at dealing with jealousy-inducing words and visions, though he was weary indeed, and most eager to have his fears put to rest. Instead he chose to focus only on Thorin, whose panic and uneasiness were very visible.

“I _am_ unsettled. That is true,” Thorin admitted after a while. “I don’t even know where to begin with this Arkenstone business.”

“You know, our friends are really spoiling me. Check this out,” said Bilbo as he rose from his armchair. “Chamomile tea. My favorite to drink in moments of... disharmony. When I feel like everything is too much.”

Thorin smiled with perfect happiness; it was he who had ordered the tea for Bilbo, while they were in Mirkwood still. _At least I’m doing something right_.

“Here. Have some,” said Bilbo minutes later, holding a small teapot and _two_ cups, thus admitting to his own inner turmoil. So they drank, and Thorin calmed himself, and Bilbo invited him to lie on his bed and relax. And Thorin lay with his head in Bilbo’s lap, and felt him stroke his hair lovingly; and all his troubles were gone. As Thorin let himself rest and feel this moment, words started pouring out of him, peaceful and nostalgic, mirroring his contentment.

“Bilbo, this is... more than I could ask for. Such a beautiful moment. I can feel the flow of energy through your hands. Do you remember when I told you that there is more good in you than you know? I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve receiving even a fraction of it. Yet I feel it, as I felt it yesterday, when I showed you the place where I was born, my playground, and I cried in your arms over the news of my father... and I told you I ordered those statues to be made of him and my grandfather, that we can place at their tombs when the time comes to honor their memory...”

“Yesterday?” Bilbo shifted in confusion. “That was a month ago, Thorin.”

“I don’t think so. It’s been only a day since I was there with you. A long, tiresome day,” said Thorin with a deep sigh.

“Unlikely,” Bilbo countered. “Look, I have a journal to prove it. I’ve written in it every day since we got here. It’s been a month, I can assure you.”

“A month? And where was I this whole time?”

“I don’t know... buried in work, I’m guessing? To be sure, it _is_ hard to keep track of time in this Mountain; I’ve had this feeling that time passes differently here. For my part I feel like it’s been six months in Erebor already. But. This is why I keep my trusty journal.”

“Six months?” Thorin echoed in disbelief. “Time must pass very slowly for you, then.”

Bilbo laughed. “That is not to say that I’m bored, though. I reckon that time passes a lot faster for you? If it feels to you that it’s just been one day?”

“No. Anything but fast. To me, it feels almost like time has stopped. Probably because every time I have a free moment I return, in my mind, to the rock of my birthplace. I loved being there with you. So I go back to that place again and again, and in doing so, I think I... close the gap between now and then? I bring that moment into the present.”

“So, you still live more or less in that moment? Constantly?” asked Bilbo. “I’ve heard you mention this idea of an eternal moment before.”

“I am _constantly returning_ to that moment; which, I guess, gives it an air of eternity,” Thorin clarified.

“It must feel great to be able to thus return,” Bilbo observed. “I myself am more inclined to go onward, to look towards the future, in my mind. That’s not to say that I’ve gone very far,” he closed with a self-deprecating smile. If he was thinking of his burning desire to make Thorin his in one particular way, to bring _that future moment_ closer to the present, it was nobody’s business! “Anyway, you said _place_ first.”

“What?”

“You said you’re always returning to _that place_ , but then you said _moment_.”

“I did, didn’t I?” said Thorin, who was beginning to feel very confused. “I don’t know which one is more accurate. Perhaps both.”

“So eternity may have to do with a place, then? I’ve always imagined it as something very static - a really long moment, or time standing still - but the way you’re talking...”

“Maybe it has to do with a place,” said Thorin. “Maybe what makes a moment eternal is where it was spent. This Mountain, that rock where I was born in particular, is the closest to eternity I’ve been. And then there’s, of course, the proximity of _you_ ,” and as he said this he realized Bilbo’s hands were no longer in his hair and his head was no longer in Bilbo’s lap; they were now lying together side by side, and Bilbo had his arms around him. And he could see this happening again, him attempting to stay in the earlier moment, which he absolutely loved, where he had been relaxed and perfectly content with his head in Bilbo’s lap, yet missing out on the present...

“If time passes slowly for you here, that is a good sign,” Thorin continued his musings. “Perhaps our perceptions of time aren’t really that different.”

“Perhaps,” said Bilbo, “though the fact that _it’s been forever_ since I last spent time with you is... not my favorite part.” _I am always with you_ , Thorin opened his lips to say, but didn’t get a chance to, as Bilbo kissed him then, ever so gently, nothing too serious or involved. “Perhaps we should make it more fun? Talking about all these complicated matters?” Bilbo said playfully, burying his head in Thorin’s neck. “I’ll have you know that I missed you.”

Thorin was now beginning to realize the ramifications of Bilbo’s statements, and was horrified. “Wait a second. Forgive me... Do you mean to say that I neglected seeing you for _a month_?”

“Let’s not put it like that,” laughed Bilbo, who perceived at once that Thorin’s contentment was beginning to disintegrate and was eager to set him back at ease. “You’ve been busy. You’ll find a flow, a rhythm in all this eventually. And then I’m sure I’ll get to see you more. For now, it looks to me like you need some good rest. Please, Thorin. I can think of nothing better right now.”

Thorin agreed, feeling defeated and more unworthy than ever of Bilbo’s immutable kindness and generosity. And very puzzled was he at the difference in the way they perceived time and what that may have caused to their relatioship; yet being too tired to try to solve the puzzle, he was happy to close his eyes and fall asleep, grateful for the endless comfort Bilbo offered. At one point he thought he heard Bilbo whisper to him through gentle caresses, _Look now, Thorin. I’m done with waiting and wondering. You_ _ **will**_ _be mine, even if I have to write this as a deadline in my calendar!_ and he wished to reply, _You met your deadline long time ago..._

Bilbo fell asleep too, a smile of triumph on his face, perhaps thinking his troubles were now over and Thorin having a thing going with the newly-arrived sexy dwarrowdam was just a bad dream. They slept for a few hours, which would have lasted longer if not for a loud, determined knock on the door in the early morning. Bifur had found the answer to Thorin’s question and was there to report it. Thorin thanked Bilbo for the peaceful night, promised him he’d take it easy today and that he’d definitely see him later. “I have to attend to something of utmost importance now,” he said and left the room at once.

“It’s the Mountain itself,” said Bifur once they were alone. “The Mountain is not permitting your garden to grow. I sensed... its displeasure.”

“Displeasure? Do you mean there’s some bad blood left over from the Smaug era? I can understand if the Mountain is upset, but we _have_ been trying to clean it up. I know it’s a slow-going process, but...”

“It’s not that,” said Bifur gravely. “I think it has to do with the Arkenstone.”

“What of it?”

“It needs to be in the Mountain for your garden to grow.”

“I doubt that,” said Thorin. “As you know, Bifur, while in Mirkwood I _have_ come to find that the Arkenstone can grow things very speedily in certain conditions. But I’m not looking for a fast process; I’m quite prepared to wait however long it takes for a garden to grow in natural conditions. So... I don’t understand.”

“Normally a garden _would_ grow in the conditions you’ve created, with no need for the Arkenstone,” said Bifur. “However, it seems the Mountain is... taking this personally; that you have not returned its heart. It’s letting you know that this is not... sitting well, by preventing the garden from growing.”

“So you’re saying a garden could grow, but the Mountain is against it?”

“It would appear so, at the moment. It’s like... a punishment, if you will.”

“And if I may jump ahead, the only way to lift this punishment is to...”

Bifur nodded uneasily. “To bring the Heart of the Mountain back, yes. That is not to say that the Arkenstone would grow your garden overnight. Based on my knowledge of this Mountain, I believe the Arkenstone would behave differently here. But your garden _would_ grow, in time.”

“How ironic. That’s the only thing I _can’t_ bring right now. I don’t even know where it is. Thank you for your help, Bifur.”

“I’m sorry to be witnessing such unfortunate developments. May I ask what you’re thinking to do about your present gardening attempt?”

“I shall chuck it,” said Thorin, miserable yet resolved. “I will need to try something else instead, and fast.”

“Very well then. Please, let any of us know how we can help. We want to see our king happy,” said Bifur and departed with a concerned frown.

* * *

Bilbo started his day with a big smile. Things were finally returning to normal! With renewed enthusiasm he went to his meeting with Ori, spent time in the library pouring over his first Khuzdul book some more, and in the afternoon he went outside with Fili for fighting practice; and he was happy to feel a touch of spring in the air. _Oh, Thorin_ , he thought wistfully, _if you could just walk outside for a moment, you’d know it’s spring now, the snow is starting to thaw and the air feels warmer..._

He was back in his room sipping on his afternoon tea when he heard a knock on his door, and a new dwarf guard he had never seen before greeted him, carrying a message.

“Master Baggins, Lord Legolas of the Woodland Realm is here and wishes to speak with you.”

Legolas? When did he get here? And what did he want? “Please, send him in.”

“Mister Baggins,” Legolas bowed to him gracefully, “I’m leaving for the North. I have come to say goodbye to my good friend Tauriel. But before I do that, I wanted to see you.”

“What news do you bring of your father? I trust you’ve left him in good spirits?”

“Ah, yes. My father. Mister Baggins, are we completely private?”

“Well, I suppose I could lock the door,” said Bilbo.

“That would be wise.” As Bilbo was locking the door, Legolas pulled a pouch from his cloak pocket and held it out.

“I have the Arkenstone,” he said. “I’ve come to deliver it to you.”

Bilbo was quite used to having bad dreams by now, and at once wondered if this was just another nightmare his mind conjured. “Huh?”

“I took it from my father. I... saw what it was doing to him. He was fixed on bringing my mother back, after a thousand years. If that’s not madness, I don’t know what is. Today there is no end to his drinking and dreaming of schemes, how he could trade it to the Valar, or use its magic somehow, but nothing ever comes of it. He’s stuck, going in circles, and has become more and more obsessed with the Arkenstone. Not to mention greedy, and... mopey,” Legolas closed, and Bilbo wondered with a chuckle at the last two attributes; _am I to understand your father was not like this before he got hold of this jewel?_ Yet he bit his lip and continued to listen.

“He never suspected me, I don’t think. It would be good if he didn’t find out it was me, for now. You must keep this a secret for a while, until things blow over. I will write to him when I reach the North, and explain everything.”

_Until things blow over, I wonder what he means by that. Until Dain blows up his dad’s fragile elf army, more like_ , he laughed to himself. He had witnessed the elves vs. dwarves bit of the battle of the five armies, and was of the opinion, biased, perhaps - the person he held in the highest regard was a dwarf after all - that Dain’s army’s advantage over the elves was undisputable.

“Why are you giving it to _me_? This object should never again...”

“I can’t give it to King Thorin,” Legolas answered. “Not after seeing what it did to my father. I recall your king has already been taken with the gold madness once, which gives me reason to believe he is susceptible of suffering under the Arkenstone’s bad influence. And I know that you, Mister Baggins, kept it from him after he reclaimed the Mountain. A clever idea, if you ask me. I hand this to you, the one person in whose judgment and perfect loyalty to Thorin I trust; it will be up to you to give it to him or to keep it. And I trust no danger would come to you if you _should_ keep it from him,” and now there was an unmistakable twinkle in Legolas’ eye.

“Lord Legolas,” said Bilbo trying to keep calm, “in my experience the Arkenstone has not proven to be that bad. Are you _sure_ it is at the root of King Thranduil’s diseased mind? Or by any chance...” _he just loves his wine a little too much?_ he wanted to add.

“Well, before he got the Arkenstone he was not interested in bringing my mother back! He had wisdom, _let the dead rest in the Halls of Mandos_ , he used to say. He tried a few times shortly after she died, saw it was impossible, and gave it a rest. This is not natural!”

“The Arkenstone can give life, I believe,” said Bilbo, “in the right circumstances. Thorin left it to him with this in mind; he hoped that the Arkenstone would help him succeed.”

“Well, he is _not_ succeeding,” said Legolas dismissively. “He is only becoming greedier and more irrational. An hour with my mom - which apparently the Arkenstone has offered - is not enough for him. I think he is using my mom as an excuse, when in fact he has succumbed to the seductive powers of this accursed stone. It was a means to an end at first; now it’s all he wants.”

Bilbo now realized he had been holding the pouch Legolas had offered for some time. “What if I don’t want it? What if I say no to this?”

“Then I have no choice but to present it to the King Under the Mountain,” said Legolas.

Bilbo opened the pouch and took the Arkenstone out, and gazed at it for a moment with eyes glowing, and a certain realization came to his mind. “I take it your father has not used its magic,” he said. “I truly feel bad for him.” He then placed the Arkenstone back in the pouch, and both in the inner pocket of the new blue tunic Dori had made for him.

Thorin had said something about always returning to a certain moment - the moment when they were together at the rock of his birthplace. _What if I am also destined to always return to some situation, which happens to be the situation where I can’t give the Arkenstone to Thorin? And somehow maybe this is the Mountain’s doing in my case too, because there is “an eternal feel” to it, or whatever Thorin said...?_

“King Thorin must hold you in very high regard,” Legolas interrupted his pondering as he saw Bilbo fumbling with his tunic and revealing his mithril shirt underneath. He had put it on that morning, still feeling Thorin’s presence around him, perfectly determined, if this shirt really did possess some special meaning, _to show a few big-mouthed ignorant dwarves that... well I’m not sure if the shirt means that Thorin is mine or I am his, but hopefully one of those!_

“Is that right?” Bilbo said, eyeing Legolas with curiosity. _Please, tell me more._

“That shirt. That is the rarest material ever found. I doubt there is another shirt like it in all of Erebor.”

“You know, a lot of people seem to have something to say about it.”

“I’m not surprised. Mister Baggins, I chose to give the Arkenstone to you because I’m sure you care for your king as much as he cares about you. Also, I’m confident that even if you keep it from him, he will not hold it against you. From what I have heard of Thorin, he does not trust easily and he does not forgive- well, perhaps he does not forgive at all. Yet he did both when it came to you.”

“I do. Care. About him,” Bilbo said fiercely.

“Indeed. So it will all turn out well,” said Legolas with a smile. “I take my leave now, Mister Baggins. I may see you again at dinner, if I’m invited to stay.”

Bilbo looked inside his tunic pocket. He had observed earlier this month that, now that his wardrobe extended to more than the one coat given to him by the Men of Laketown, he had to keep changing the ring’s location according to whichever garment he wore each day. The same applied now to the Arkenstone, which made life even more complicated, _though I most definitely will place you in Thorin’s hands by the end of the day_. As he made this promise, he heard the Arkenstone rattle in his pocket, no doubt agitated once again to be in the presence of the ring. _I know, I know,_ he said warmly. _It’s not ideal, but... it’s good to have you here_.

_I will give it to Thorin myself_ , he continued his thinking. _I’m actually glad Legolas left it with me_. _It will show Thorin that I had the opportunity to hide it from him again, and yet I didn’t. No more shadows betwen us, Thorin. I will give it to you and_ _ **trust you**_ _. You will deal with it properly. And by trusting you, I will show you that you can trust me._

_And that moment on the ramparts that robbed us of each other for, well... an eternity, that moment will truly be gone; and the gap between us will be closed for good, and the wound will be healed._

_Oh, Thorin. How I’ve longed for a chance to prove to you that you can trust me._

He remembered that moment in Erebor, when Thorin had suspected him of holding the Arkenstone in his hand, and how narrowly he escaped with the help of his tiny acorn; how Thorin had transitioned from paranoid to something impossibly beautiful and not gold-sick at all in a matter of seconds; and how he, Bilbo, upon perceiving the change, had had the mind to tell him about the Arkenstone at once. Yet to this day he wondered if, had Dwalin not interrupted them, he _would_ have mentioned the stone at all. One more of _that look_ from that out-of-this-world person standing before him, and he would have told Thorin how he felt about him instead of the truth about the Arkenstone.

Oh, but now... thought Bilbo as he touched the pouch in his pocket one more time, now, once and for all... he will do both.

“...We’ll crucify the insincere tonight

We’ll make things right, we’ll feel it all tonight

We’ll find a way to offer up the night tonight

The indescribable moments of your life tonight

The impossible is possible tonight

Believe in me as I believe in you, tonight”

(The Smashing Pumpkins, _Tonight, Tonight_ )


	4. Falling Through This Night Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo attempts to follow through with his plan of confessing his love and disclosing the Arkenstone’s location to Thorin, despite the latter’s being locked in a meeting for a good part of the night.

Bilbo didn’t see Thorin again until dinner time. He was pacing back and forth in his room, wondering which one of the two important statements of the evening he should make first, when Thorin knocked on his door and revealed what Bilbo already knew, that Legolas, son of Thranduil, was in Erebor and, unsurprisingly, was going to stay for dinner at Thorin’s invitation. “You _are_ going to actually eat in the dining hall?” asked Bilbo, noting how rare an occurrence this was, for Thorin was perpetually too busy to eat anywhere. “I will; there are things I need to discuss with our guest. I would love it if you joined me in dining with him,” said Thorin warmly. Next, Fili and Kili waltzed into his room, eager to also be included on Thorin’s short list of “deemed suitable for entertaining our honored guest”, and they informed Bilbo that Dain had also been deemed as such, but that he had excused himself citing an indisposition and was going to skip dinner tonight.

Tauriel and Legolas were waiting for them in the dining hall, and they all sat at the king’s table. While Thorin avoided mention of Thranduil’s threats, he did bring up the Arkenstone’s disappearance, as he was of the mind to ask Legolas to join him in a private meeting after dinner and pick his brain on the subject of dealing with his father diplomatically. Thorin also wanted to know, naturally, if the elf prince had any idea who may have stolen the Arkenstone. Legolas politely agreed to the meeting. Next, Thorin invited Bilbo to participate as well, “the person whose insights I trust above anyone else’s”, he explained. As you can well imagine, Bilbo declined, for this would have been too awkward for him while the Arkenstone’s whereabouts remained undisclosed for now and too close for comfort! “Will I see you later tonight?” he asked his love hopefully. Thorin gave him an unsure look, a mix of “I would want nothing more” and “I am scared to tell you that”. “Yes, if you wish it,” he replied uncertainly.

Bilbo remained seated at the table after the others left, wondering how best to approach what was to come: exactly _how_ he was supposed to see Thorin later. He was adamant not just about saying certain words, but also about spending more time with him. He had realized that Thorin was a bit stuck in time, perhaps too content to return to their special moments in the past, and clearly not in a hurry to move things forward between the two of them. At least, that’s how things seemed, and Bilbo told himself _he_ needed to get things going, and fast, for he could not wait anymore.

As he was reviewing these thoughts, Bilbo noticed once again the presence of the beautiful dwarf lady who, according to some, was sure to capture Thorin’s heart in no time, if she hadn’t already done so. She had finished her dinner, and presently gave a sigh of satisfaction, running her fingers through her hair in a languid gesture, and saying: “Mmm, what a delicious meal. I am feeling so refreshed. I know what could refresh me even more. I’m going to have a queenly bath.” She said this in Westron, which didn’t help things, and as she rose from her chair to walk herself out with slow, seductive movements, the same group of dwarves Bilbo had overheard the evening before started again. “A queenly bath, what do you suppose she means by that?” “Could there be any doubt? There is only one bathroom in this whole kingdom that is endowed with royal equipment, and we know whom that belongs to!” “Oh, shut up, the king’s bathroom has not yet been restored. He uses something old and simple!” “Then why would she say such a thing?” “She’s a bit of a diva, isn’t she?”

Bilbo listened to all this, and it would all have seemed very silly, if not for the fact that Thorin had just left for a “private meeting”. Maybe the meeting was going to last only a few minutes and then Thorin had... other plans? The dwarrowdam seemed so confident and carefree; this was enough to make Bilbo even more determined to not only see Thorin tonight, but also get to the bottom of this little mystery!

Now, Bilbo wasn’t going to stalk Thorin outside his office, no, thank you. He did entertain the idea of following the lady with his ring on, but stopped himself out of embarrassment. A gentlehobbit, indeed! Suffice to say, however, that this constituted a bit of a distraction for him, and threw a wrench into the order of his thoughts and plans that he had set for the evening.

He went to his room and, after some thinking, decided he was going to position himself in the hallway outside his room, and wait for Thorin to come back from his meeting. He reasoned that otherwise he would miss Thorin entirely, for the latter’s response to Bilbo’s question earlier had not seemed promising. Since he didn’t want to appear like a stalker to the two dwarves who guarded Thorin’s rooms, he decided to put on the ring and make himself invisible for the duration of his waiting.

Would Thorin be alone when he retired to his rooms? Would he exhibit any signs of... _You are losing it, Bilbo Baggins. No, I am not, I must know!_ he told himself firmly, determined to confront Thorin about the gossip either way. Before he exited his room, he shed his blue tunic and put on his new green coat, careful to move the Arkenstone into the coat’s pocket. If asked why he changed clothes, he would have invoked the chilly air of the Mountain; in truth, he really wanted Thorin to see him in this new piece of clothing he had got numerous positive remarks on: how well the green suited him, how the cut complimented his figure... things he would have loved to hear from a certain dwarf who had not even seen him wear the coat yet!

Thus dressed, he slipped on the ring and opened his door with as faint a sound as he could manage, and stationed himself in the hallway along the wall opposite his door, not daring to get closer to Thorin’s, where the sleepless guards dwelled. Thus his waiting began.

First he saw Balin retire to bed, then Dwalin followed shortly after. Then he saw Fili and Kili, whose rooms were between his and Thorin’s. They were talkative as usual, Kili throwing in how “it’s nice to have the competition removed from the picture, though I did like the guy.” “Come on, Kili,” said his brother, “Legolas is hardly competition for you. Tauriel loves you, or else she wouldn’t have come all this way to be near you.” “Yeah, but Legolas lives a stone’s throw away from here. A noble, handsome, princely elf. You can see how I would be a little insecure.” “Thank Mahal you’re only _a little_ , unlike someone we know,” said Fili. They both laughed out loud, and Bilbo wondered if all dwarves were like that, once safe inside Erebor’s walls did they all become loose-mouthed and insinuating?

This was around 10 p.m., an hour into Bilbo’s stakeout mission. The minutes passed as he stood, and, at times, sat on the cold floor, thinking of his love and of his desire. And his reason for patiently continuing this effort changed from “I have to give the Arkenstone to Thorin today”/“I want to tell Thorin I love him” to the simple need to be with him, to hold him, to reassure himself that Thorin wanted _him_ and no one else; and with the passing of the hours, as he heard the dining hall clock strike 11, then midnight, then 1 a.m., he began to call all that by its right name: he _wanted_ Thorin desperately. It was this latter reason, with not a small amount of burning possessiveness and increased jealousy, that kept Bilbo resolved to go through with this plan and not abandon it in favor of sleep like the creature of comfort that he was.

His patience was rewarded in the end, for, shortly after the clock struck 2 a.m., Thorin did approach his suite. He was alone, Yavanna be praised, and did not exhibit any signs of fooling around in the workplace. On the contrary, Thorin was even holding some papers in his hand (perhaps he had taken notes on how to treat with Thranduil; _good thinking!_ ) and he entered his rooms at once, looking all business and somewhat in a hurry.

He emerged after a minute or so, without the papers, and proceeded towards Bilbo’s room; yet did not knock or try to enter, but just stopped in front of the door looking unsure, much like earlier. He kneeled and placed one hand on the door in a defeated gesture. Bilbo watched all this with some confusion; yet so endearing did Thorin look as his forehead touched the door and his hand opened as if wanting to reach the other side, that Bilbo concluded, most sensibly, that Thorin must want to be with him in some capacity tonight as well. _Or he’s looking to apologize for misleading you these last few weeks and confess his love for that stunning dwarrow lady; look at him, if that’s not a dwarf with a guilty conscience then I don’t know what is!_ The point made here was no less respectable. _Shut up!_ Bilbo forced himself with utmost strength to keep this shout silent, and managed just barely; he must have let _something_ out, for Thorin turned and looked behind himself, then rose from the floor and left with a deep frown.

As soon as Bilbo heard Thorin’s door open, he opened his own, again as quietly as possible. Once in his room, he took off his ring and shoved it in his coat pocket next to the Arkenstone. _I can do this,_ he told himself. Then he went to Thorin’s rooms at once.

“Yes, Master Baggins?” the guards welcomed him.

“I am here to see the king. Please let him know.”

They did so unquestionably, and all heard Thorin say, “Send him in,” and just like that, Bilbo gained access, once again, to a place that tonight he intended to dominate.

Thorin was at some distance from him, staring at the walls, holding papers in his hand once again. He had removed his coat and was now wearing a white shirt, whose gorgeous contrast with the dark of Thorin’s hair did not escape Bilbo.

“Are you done with all your meetings for the night?” asked Bilbo in a commanding tone.

Thorin turned, and at the sight of Bilbo in his green coat he dropped his papers to the floor. “Mahal... you look beautiful,” he spoke intensely, and as he moved towards Bilbo he answered an almost inaudible “Yes,” with full emotion. And now Bilbo noticed something impossible to miss: _Thorin_ was becoming more and more beautiful by the second; it was plain as day, the gloriously smitten look on his face, directed at Bilbo, _and caused by him_ , there was no mistake there either. For Thorin indeed was quite taken with Bilbo’s appearance, as well as with the realization that Bilbo had come to see him in his rooms, something he had been hoping for ever since they had returned to Erebor.

And when Bilbo saw him thus transfigured all reason left him, and once they were face to face he placed a hand on Thorin’s chest and began pushing him slowly towards the bedroom. “I’ve missed you,” he said longingly, and now they were kissing, without knowing who started it or when. “ _Ya a_ _zralifi astû_ ,” Thorin echoed in Khuzdul. “There is talk in the Mountain, Thorin...” Bilbo said as he kept pushing him gently but firmly. “What talk?” “That you are, or are about to be... involved with a certain lady who lives here.” “Is that so? Why don’t you tell me more,” Thorin said with an incredulous smile, as if ready for a good joke. Now they were in Thorin’s bedroom, and Bilbo pinned him down to the bed and continued to kiss him fiercely, while Thorin lay there, perfectly submissive and not minding Bilbo’s attitude in the least. “I was just curious, is that true?” “How can it be true, when all that I am...”

At this moment they were interrupted by an obnoxious knock on the door, accompanied by raised voices, and Bilbo’s heart sank. Who could be visiting Thorin’s suite after 2 a.m.?

Thorin sighed; he took Bilbo’s hands in his and kissed them lovingly.

“Stay here. I need to see what that is about,” he said softly.

“Who is it?” he shouted gruffly when he reached the main entrance, without opening the door.

It turned out it was an older dwarf from Dain’s clan, who was serving as a temporary advisor to Thorin. He offered apologies and said he wanted to discuss an emergency matter.

“I’ll be with you in a minute,” Thorin shouted again through the door, and next he was back in the bedroom. He picked Bilbo up like he was a bag of chips, opened the doors of his wardrobe and shoved him in with no warning. “It’s best you hide here while Master Bundur visits.” He struggled for control, his voice in a bit of panic.

“What?! This is an extreme indignity!” Bilbo shot furiously, with great impatience.

“This dwarf is a stickler for certain... rules,” Thorin tried to clarify. “I’m not going to hear the end of it if he finds you here.”

“But he won’t see me, will he? I’ll just stay in your bedroom.”

“He may find a way to look in the bedroom. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s here precisely to find out if I’m... going against tradition.”

“Why would he think such a thing?” asked Bilbo menacingly, thoughts of the gossip heard earlier invading his mind once again.

“Well, didn’t you say just now that there are rumors about me in the Mountain?”

“Oh. Right. And... _are_ you? Going against tradition?”

Thorin gave him a meaningful smile. “I... at this moment, I’d say I’m doing things out of order.”

“Oh, goodness,” said Bilbo with utter discouragement. “I shouldn’t have come. Maybe we should stop for the night.”

“I _don’t_ want to stop,” said Thorin, cupping his face and pressing his palms to Bilbo’s temples as if wanting to impress upon him the truth of his statement. “I just... will you _please_ just stay in there until Master Bundur leaves?”

“All right,” said Bilbo, suddenly amused. _You_ _ **did**_ _climb into a barrel once at my request_. He shut the closet doors from the inside. The last obstacle was removed. There was no competition to worry about; just the fact that perhaps he was moving things too fast. He could deal with that. For once, he was all right with waiting a little more.

Thorin was right: Master Bundur, a traditionalist through and through, had heard the gossip concerning Thorin’s love life, and was looking for an excuse to enter the king’s chambers at a late hour and see for himself if Thorin was by any chance forgoing their ancient traditions in favor of courting in a more modern style. Not to mention, between hearing rumors of a breathtaking dwarrow temptress and a never-before-heard-of hobbit from the Shire, the advisor was curious to see which one Thorin was courting!

The dwarf did walk around, studying the living room and peeking into the bedroom while Thorin was attending to some papers on his desk. Beyond that, though, Master Bundur _had_ tried to get a hold of Thorin in the recent hours, and his visit was not unwarranted. Late that evening, an attempt had been made to light one of the furnaces, which resulted in a small explosion, and some of the dwarves supervising the activity got hurt and were sent to the infirmary. Thorin was quite distressed at hearing this, and he and his visitor took a good twenty minutes going over how the broken furnace might be repaired and how to ensure other furnaces would be safe for relighting in the future.

Meanwhile, Bilbo was sitting in the darkness of the not-so-welcoming wardrobe, resolved to use the reprieve to repeat to himself the words he had longed to say to Thorin. _I love you, I love you, I love you,_ he whispered, as the dark made the words flow freely and easily. And it occurred to him that the Arkenstone could offer some light. He pulled it out of his coat pocket, and now could see once again the rune-inscribed buttons that made up Thorin’s password panel he had quite forgotten about. He began punching in words of love in Khuzdul, playing around with the panel in an exercise that perhaps would please Thorin, to find one Khuzdul word - the perfect endearment - to use later... And at one point he remembered the first time he had spoken a Khuzdul endearment, when Thorin was unconscious after the battle of five armies and Bilbo was trying to bring him back... _Sanazyung_ , he had said then, and it had felt like trying to solve a puzzle, to unlock a code that he hoped would induce Thorin to _live_ ; a _shot in the dark_ , really. He got on such a high with this endeavor that he began whispering _My love, my perfect love_ while trying to type the word, and as he finished spelling _Sanazyung_ on the panel, he mindlessly hit the button below the alphabet. Before he knew it, the inner doors of the wardrobe closed, and he was being transported down just like the first time.

Mortified, he rushed to put the Arkenstone back in his pocket, and vowed to return upstairs immediately, though great was his concern that the sounds of the elevator would give him away. I am happy to say that, although Master Bundur did hear some of said sounds, he mistook them for bathroom noises, which only reminded him of the dwarrowdam’s “queenly bath” effusions he had heard of earlier. This caused him to promptly ask Thorin in a most severe tone, “It sounds like your pipes are cracking. Are you having trouble with the plumbing?”, which earned Thorin another twenty minutes with the nosy dwarf, who now took a peek in the bathroom, eager to “advise him on the proper course of action”...

Bilbo completed his short descent. The doors of the elevator opened on both sides. His eyes beheld the view before he could press the button to go back up. And what he saw was enough for him to forget that thought.

The first thing he saw was light. Lights. Blue, yellow, red, and many colors in between. Lights, some very soft and dim, others vibrant and bright.

He stepped out of the elevator, rubbing his eyes to make sure this wasn’t a dream, then looking around at the area as a whole, wondering if maybe he had been taken to a different place now than the first time. It _was_ the same area; he saw the door that connected the Mountain to the outside, and the windows above it. But... to say the area had a new look was an understatement.

The soil that had been on the ground the previous night was gone. In its place there was green marble. And on the marble sat a garden of a wholly different kind than anything that had been in place the night before.

A dizzying array of flowers, if one could call them that: flowers made of glass, made of stone, made of gems that somehow hung together; and light reflections on the walls that created more flowers. The flowers were grouped in different clusters, whose significance Bilbo did not perceive at first. Each flower was made of the material most suitable to its appearance, as if by choosing that material the artist had really wanted to penetrate and unveil something about the flower’s essence. His eyes were caught by a sunflower made of triangular gems of topaz that inside held tiny black onyx stones shaped like seeds; a lantern placed in the vicinity discreetly illumined them from behind. And Bilbo could now see that the sunflower was placed in a section that had a summer theme, with roses, lilies and peonies also present; and to the left of the summer section there was another, dedicated to fall, with pansies and chrysanthemums, dahlias and begonias, while to its right was a spring section, Bilbo’s favorite at first sight, with ruby tulips, hyacinths made of amethyst, daffodils and freesias. The freesias were made of glass, painted with orange and green, and light shone on them. The only thing missing was their fragrance; yet Bilbo could feel it in the air that he breathed, so powerful and suggestive was their imagery.

Then he moved towards the section furthest from the elevator and closest to the exit, which was dedicated to winter. The flowers there were more improvised in their design; he wasn’t sure that they really existed. He did see snowdrops made of diamonds among them, and a new smile of happiness graced his awestruck face; again, they looked so real! The winter patterns were sharper, more geometrical, as if the artist had forsaken the idea of imitating nature, crafting combinations of shapes instead. Some of the flowers were made of ice, and Bilbo wondered how the ice didn’t melt - surely it wasn’t that cold in the Mountain; he had just recorded the first day of Spring!

Among the ice creations he spotted a flower made of sapphire, with rhombus and triangle shapes, which reminded him of the design of the first outfit he ever saw Thorin wear; a pattern most exquisite when it adorned his love’s clothes, but here, in this garden, something truly out of this world. Bilbo could feel the devotion, the infinite care put into this work which surely must have taken a good time to complete. _This, this has got to be my favorite section_ , he thought, despite his preference for Spring flowers; for the ice flower reminded him of Thorin, and there was nothing like it.

He breathed, and stood still for a minute, contemplating the wonderland before him, that only last night had been a barren land. The table that had stood next to the elevator, holding instructions and seeds, was gone; instead he noticed little niches in the walls here and there, with small lanterns sitting on them, illuminating the garden.

How came this about? He was aware that the Arkenstone now lay in his pocket - the same Arkenstone that had proven to possess miraculous powers of _growing_ things. But this? This required no growing; it was something else entirely. Plus, when the Arkenstone had resurrected Thranduil’s garden in Mirkwood, along with growing the oak tree from Bilbo’s acorn in the same garden, it had been, both times, at someone’s request. While here... he was not aware of any request being made, certainly not by himself, _and I’ve only had the blasted stone for a few hours!_

_All right, relax_ , he said to himself. _You know, you don’t always have to be the one to solve all of life’s mysteries. How about going outside to get some fresh air?_ He exited the Mountain through the door, curious to see if there were any changes to the courtyard he had discovered a night before. Great was his shock when he saw a tall, proud oak tree standing on what had been an empty space a night ago!

_I must be dreaming. I must have fallen asleep in Thorin’s wardrobe. I’d better be quiet as I wake myself up, or else I’ll give myself away to Master Bundur_. He leaned to the ground and touched it with his hands, and felt it cold and solid, and very real. But how... He did, of course, remember that on their last morning in Mirkwood, when he and Thorin had beheld the great oak tree that had grown overnight, they had taken two acorns from it, one for each of them. His had been sent to the Shire via raven express, and Thorin’s... he was not aware of Thorin having planted his already. _No way! He wouldn’t do that without at least telling me, would he...?_

He returned inside the Mountain to take in the garden once more, and stood before each season, carefully observing every flower’s features, feeling and touching in places with tiny movements; and for a while he lost all track of time.

“If you could do

Enough for me so I might, Power Divine,

Show forth the shadow of the paradise

I have in mind, you’ll see me walk the line

To your elected tree, take the device

Of leaves my theme and you have helped me earn,

And put it on.”

(Dante’s _Divine Comedy_ , from Canto 1 of _Heaven_ )

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All Khuzdul is from [www.dwarrowscholar.com](https://www.dwarrowscholar.com)


	5. In A Bed Made of Flowers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Upon seeing the garden, Thorin goes through a rollercoaster of paranoid scenarios bordering madness. Thankfully, Bilbo is there to steady him. While this chapter is mostly from Thorin’s POV, the song included at the end is from Bilbo’s perspective. This song integrates really well with the second part of this chapter and Erebor in general, and captures how something can feel both temporary and eternal.

Thorin watched as Master Bundur let himself out of the room. Although the visit had been longer than anticipated, he trusted that Bilbo stayed put in his hidden place. Yet when he opened the closet doors, Thorin saw no trace of Bilbo. One look at the hole in the floor told him all he needed to know. He closed the doors and recalled the elevator with the press of a button disguised as a decorative gem on the side of the wardrobe. He stepped inside and descended at once.

He had changed the password only hours before, per his weekly habit. How could Bilbo have guessed it? Was it possible that the word _Sanazyung_ was also on _his_ mind? Mahal... So much could be going right on this night, if only Thorin would not spoil it with his imposing demeanor and too many years of tradition!

The elevator reached the ground floor. He exited, and as he saw Bilbo lost in a wondrous display of lights and colors, a smile of pure happiness spread upon his face, Thorin decided he was in no hurry to announce his presence. Though he could not make out the flowers in detail, watching his love’s reaction from a distance was more than enough, as Bilbo seemed happier than he had ever seen him before. Suddenly, he slipped into a memory of something that had never happened, that he had only dreamed of: asking Bilbo to be his in this way.

_Master Baggins... Bilbo..._

_I want to show you something._

_I crafted each of these in the hope to express what you mean to me..._

_...in place of words, because words absolutely fail me._

_Each moment I spend with you fills me with so much joy and is always a new surprise. Each moment I spend with you is like an eternity, yet always leaves me wanting more._

_I wish - I have long wondered - if it would be possible for me to give you even a tiny bit of what you’ve given me._

As he kept admiring Bilbo immersed in the loveliness of the flowers, he noticed that each season had a special place. He had thought of this himself; maybe having all seasons together could express the idea of eternity. He coud try to give eternity back to Bilbo this way.

He had dreamed of growing flowers naturally, of course. Plants suitable for each season, somehow made to grow in the same location at the same time. Impossible, maybe...

He would take Bilbo’s hand in his. He would follow his gaze, rested upon the beauty of the garden, and wonder if he could make his offer now, if this would be _enough_.

If the garden he offered looked anything like the one presently standing before his eyes, then... Yes. It would be enough. If it looked anything like this, he would have the courage to continue.

_Bilbo... there is something I’ve wanted to tell you, for a long time..._

Then somehow, in the blink of an eye, he would say it. He’d look for that interval between two fractions of a second - in which time is supposed to be almost non-existent and yet holds infinitely many more instants -, find that interval and create a hole in it, so that in case Bilbo refused him he could pretend this never happened...

 _I love you_. It would not be said with uncertainty, nor said in shame, with the burden of guilt and unforgiveness weighing on him. That was not to say that he would feel deserving.

_I want to be with you_

_in soul and body and mind_

_in perfect love_

_forever_.

He’d wait, aware of the possibility of rejection, of the mind to assure his beloved that rejection _was_ an option; Thorin would not presume to take his freedom. But no more words would come, and Bilbo... He dared not imagine further.

Despite having conceived the notion of all seasons in one, the garden he beheld now he had never envisioned in his mind. Maybe if given enough time he _could_ have come up with similar designs and implemented them.

He stood transfixed, and wondered _how_ this could be, _who_ could have crafted all these elegant flowers. It was certainly not him, nor was anyone he had enlisted for help doing this on his behalf.

It was tempting. To offer Bilbo this tonight as it stood, without a care as to how it appeared there, so he could go on with the courting process. To present the garden to him as a part of his kingdom, something Bilbo would enjoy, and while admitting he wasn’t the one who crafted it, perhaps being seductively secretive about its origins. It was quite convenient, too, seeing as how he had already wasted a month on a doomed project. But Dwarven traditions dictated the gift should be of his own making or something in his possession, ideally purchased at a high price, and the garden was none of those things. Thorin was not going to stoop so low as to offer something he had no hand in.

 _I must have stumbled into a dream_ , he thought. _This was not here yesterday_. He had visited the area briefly the day before after talking to Bifur, but had no time to even begin to turn it into a new endeavor. The free time he did have, he spent pouring over the two books on flowers Tauriel had brought from Mirkwood. He didn’t get very far, as soon the clock struck, reminding him of his busy schedule, and he left, locking the books in the safe in his office...

Could another dwarf have created this gift for Bilbo? What a cruel joke! But who could it be? His mind was spinning now, going from one dwarf to another. No one aside from the married dwarves and Kili (if this were a gift for Tauriel, Thorin _would_ know) was beyond suspicion. One of Dain’s dwarves, maybe? But this must have been some time in the making. If it started before Thorin arrived from Mirkwood, it was likely one of the dwarves in his own Company, as Dain’s people did not know Bilbo. Ori maybe? Bilbo seemed to enjoy spending time with Ori, a dwarf he certainly had more in common than with Thorin.

He briefly considered the possibility that the garden wasn’t intended for Bilbo. But Dwarves didn’t care about flowers. A flower necklace they would forge, maybe, to sell in the marketplace to the ladies in Dale.

What if it wasn’t made by a Dwarf? Then by whom? The Men...? Thorin had offered some of them shelter for the winter. But how easy would it be for them to get hold of such gems, and have the skill to turn them into these creations? No, it had to be a dwarf, he thought with a hint of pride.

Jealousy, that burning feeling that had haunted him in his gold madness, was here again, getting hotter by the second. Perhaps this was all a big conspiracy against him. Master Bundur was in league with the enamored dwarf, and had sought access to Thorin’s rooms in order to see if Bilbo was there and thus establish whether Bilbo was off the market or not.

Wait. How could another person find this secret place? He had no reason to question the loyalty of his guards. Would they betray him? _The person you trusted most betrayed you in the past, so why not them?_ _The person you trusted..._ That made the most sense.

Bilbo himself was not beyond suspicion; he could have crafted it with help from a dwarf. Bilbo was allowed access to his rooms, and somehow guessed the password of the disguised elevator. Bilbo had been doing his own thing for the last month; Thorin had been too busy to spend time with him. And Bilbo had said that _it feels like I’ve been here for six months_ , perhaps because he was working tirelessly on this very thing.

This must be it. Bilbo was in love with a dwarf, learned about their traditions and was eager to present that person with a courting gift. _I should expect that no one other than you would have such a beautiful mind,_ he thought fondly. _Your knowledge of flowers doesn’t hurt, either. Whom could you have made this for?_ And for a short second, he willed himself to believe that it was for him. But the burning feeling intensified, and the hopeful thought was lost in the next moment. Dwarves didn’t care for flowers; Bilbo would know better than to give flowers to a dwarf. No, it was a gift _for_ Bilbo, not _from_ him...

_Thorin..._

A voice whispered, leaving countless echoes in its wake violently breaking through a hundred windows at the edge of his mind while Thorin hopelessly tried to shut the blinds. Glass shattered, and a hundred faceless ghosts entered in, bringing with them howling wind and pouring rain, and thunder.

_Thorin..._

_Thorin..._

_Who are you?_ he asked, heart filled with terror.

_Thorin..._

_You love him, don’t you?_

_(You love him, don’t you?)_ a thousand voices spoke in turn, calling from a thousand pieces of glass lying broken on the floor.

_If this should make him happy..._

_(It is, do you not see?)_

_Then why not let him go?_

_Let him be someone else’s?_

_You want him to be_ _**yours** _ _..._

_Don’t you remember what this caused in you?_

_This obsession, this want..._

_It is a chance to right the wrong._

_(You said you’d right the wrong!)_

_His happiness! Consider it._

_Would you rather have died and left him?_

_(yours, but heartbroken?)_

_Would you not rather live?_

_(while he is happy?)_

_Is that you, my Lord? Mahal?_ Thorin asked. _You know my answer, as I gave one like it to your wife once. Him happy, that is what I choose, a hundred times over._

 _He is_. _Isn’t he? He is happy_ , he wondered, not sure anymore if he was talking to himself or the voices of splintered glass.

 _Happier than_ _ **I**_ _have yet to make him_.

 _I am not Mahal_ , said the ghost, and the pieces Thorin had watched fall away rose from the floor and glued themselves back together, and the glass was made into a giant whole. _I am_ _ **you**_ , Thorin, son of Thrain. _The_ _ **you**_ _who died in another world._

_What do you want?_

_To take you... there... with me._

_I must be fading. I’m fading at the thought that he will be another’s. Stop... how to stop..._

_But he_ _ **is**_ _mine_ , he conjured another voice in his mind, _even as he hasn’t said so! I feel him in my heart._

_He is in your heart because you love him. It’s one-sided. That is all._

Thorin knew what this experience meant. He could never let him go, even if Bilbo did belong to someone else. Thorin would continue to wish for him, to dream of him forever, or else he would fade. In an instant, he clearly saw this possible reality. This _may_ become the truth. It might not be tonight or tomorrow, but soon... And he, Thorin... _well, you would look really ridiculous now, wouldn’t you?_ he heard Bilbo’s voice, casual like a bird perched on the windowsill on a summer day, the voice of common sense and light laughter.

 _No doubt I would_ , he answered. _But I would not touch a hair in your head. I would rather die than be the one to diminish your happiness. I would leave you to attend to it, never to disturb it_.

...As if he heard this last response, Bilbo turns and faces him, and all grim thoughts cease at once. They feel the magnetic pull towards one another again, as they did upstairs earlier, and the movement that was clumsy and random and much too fast then is now slow, fluid and harmonious. Hand in hand, they walk around and admire the garden. _Did you know this was here? How did you know the password? How did your meeting with your advisor go? Did_ _ **you**_ _know this was here?_ Questions cross through their minds, yet neither asks them. Both are careful not to disturb this precious moment: for fear its grace should fall, for fear of living the next moment if it means missing this one, for fear these flowers should break, or fade, or die.

As they walk in perfect silence, Thorin notices the intricate design of the flowers and is thoroughly impressed. He begins to question if it’s even possible for this beautiful garden, so evocative of eternity in a way so personal to him - eternity as a _place_ he wants to share with Bilbo - to have been created by someone else. For a second he believes the unbelievable: _he_ must have created it.

No. This must be another product of his madness, confusing dreams with reality. He shakes himself mentally and prepares for the inevitable. If it _was_ possible for someone else to make it, then perhaps Thorin is really not worthy of Bilbo’s love after all. Suddenly it seems reasonable to let whoever _was_ able to make such a thing have Bilbo. Bilbo deserves to be with such a person.

They wander outside. When Thorin sees the fully grown oak tree, he can no longer keep it together. The Arkenstone must be around here somewhere. His guest Legolas is still in the Mountain, spending the night here before setting out for the North. Perhaps he has the Arkenstone. Or perhaps he gave it to Tauriel. Thorin should make inquiries in the morning.

 _No_ , he tries to stop this madness that threatens to take over once again. _No, there will not be a morning. There will always be just_ _ **this**_ _. This moment when he could still be mine. Or maybe I can give him something_ _ **now**_ _, something better than this garden, and only then time can continue to move on..._

He has had nothing to do with planting this tree. His acorn is still in the pocket of his blue coat, the one he wore in Mirkwood on their last night. Now that he thinks about it, every time he wears that coat he feels protected. He couldn’t see this until now, when he is in danger of losing his mind. Perhaps he should hurry upstairs to retrieve it.

Or... maybe someone took the acorn from his coat pocket? The same secret admirer and creator of this garden?

The madness returns in full. He knocks his head against the giant mirror and breaks both, releasing the Thorins of the worlds where he has died, their voices screaming that if he had just accepted his fate none of this would happen now. It has to be Legolas; he must know that the Arkenstone grew the tree in his father’s garden. He must have collected an acorn from that tree, and brought the Arkenstone here in order to recreate the miracle, because he must be in love with Bilbo. It is _he_ who is doing this. But he’s going away, a voice of reason tries to intervene, why would he go to these lengths only to leave the next morning? _Then it’s a plot by Thranduil himself. He sent Legolas to do his dirty work. To see me in madness again. To mock me, to take_ _ **him**_ _from me..._

He can escape this. He has to. He won’t make a humiliating spectacle of himself in front of Bilbo again. He needs to focus.

“Do you like all this, Bilbo? This garden that popped out of nowhere?” He dare not ask about the tree. He wishes neither of them had seen it!

“Yes,” says Bilbo, voice trembling with emotion. “I love it. I don’t know what all this is but it could not have appeared at a better time.”

They are inside the Mountain again, and Bilbo is looking at him in a strange way, with something higher than desire. It’s like Bilbo is truly _seeing_ him for the first time - his essence, his heart, his soul - wide-eyed and mesmerized by the way Thorin shines in this garden, Thorin drowned in the blue of the ice flower encircled with sapphire gems, the grey and white light that falls on his face, unveiling him, revealing him.

“I have never seen you so happy. Do you think...” Thorin’s voice falters. There is just one thing left to ask.

Bilbo is waiting for him, exceptionally patient.

“Do you think there is anything that...”

It’s not coming out right. It’s not just that he’s not great with words; it’s also that this is a really strange thing to ask.

“Is there anything that could make you happier? Here, in Erebor?” Thorin finally asks. He is not begging. Thorin, son of Thrain, King Under the Mountain is stone, immutable and cold, and he will accept.

“Yes,” Bilbo murmurs. He lets go of Thorin’s hand and points to a small area neither of them has noticed before, that is not covered in marble. The area is tucked in behind the Spring and Summer sections, offering a vantage point of all the seasons. They draw closer, and Thorin is startled to notice tiny blue flowers, barely visible but _real_ this time, growing out of fresh soil. The flowers form a rectangle that hosts a bed of grass and leaves and the soil smells like earth after a spring rain. Bilbo removes his coat, places it on the ground, careful to remain inside the edge of flowers, and nudges Thorin to lie down in it.

For a second there, Thorin spots a determined look on Bilbo’s face, as if he intends to make the most of this moment. Bilbo ascends on top of him, and now he looks bewitched again, as if he’s staring at a sky full of stars that somehow are more beautiful than this garden. “Don’t move,” Thorin hears, an echo of their parting on Ravenhill, strange, considering this night is so filled with life... _or is it_. Bilbo is radiant in his mithril, just as he was that night when they first kissed in Mirkwood. But his light is no longer juxtaposed with shadow; it’s light upon light, circles of light one within another, and the wonder in Bilbo’s expression makes it brighter.

“Thorin...” Bilbo’s hands trail across Thorin’s face, his neck, his chest, like a silent breath of air, barely there, while Thorin holds his hands on his waist, watching him.

“Thorin... I’m in love with you.” Bilbo touches his face, his hair softly, in imperceptible moves, as if not daring to touch something so beautiful. And these words will be said again...

...Bilbo has said something just now. And it seems that Thorin could catch it. Effortlessly, he returns to a moment ago, and _he catches it_. The words are still there on Bilbo’s lips, “in love... with you,” and Thorin hears them again. And these words will be said again.

“I’m... quite madly in love with you,” Bilbo continues with a sort of serious face, as if he’s guessed what Thorin is doing and wants to pull him back into the present.

“Bilbo...”

“I love you. More than _anything_ ,” Bilbo says while gazing at him intently, _It is_ _ **here**_ _, Thorin, it is_ _ **here**_ _and it is_ _ **now**_ , so Thorin would have nowhere to hide _._

Thorin closes his eyes and prepares for what’s to come. Love... it _is_ real. It _is_ here. For him this is not just a moment in time.

This. Is. Forever.

“I would also say that I want you,” he hears Bilbo say before he can begin to speak. “But. I’m happy to wait. I don’t want... you... to do things in the wrong order... against your traditions.”

Now Thorin is eager to catch up with him.

“There are no words to tell you how much I want you,” he says as his fingers trace the circles on the top of Bilbo’s shirt, half expecting that it will catch his all-consuming fire. “Yet I _was_ prepared to wait.”

Bilbo is waiting patiently, full of love and no expectation, and Thorin feels how in sync they are. Neither of them is rushing. Time flows _just right_ for both of them.

He brings his hand to Bilbo’s heart.

“If you and I are sure... of how we feel and what this means... if you want... if you still want...”

“Yes,” Bilbo whispers and brings their lips together while his fingers start undoing the buttons of Thorin’s shirt, touching his skin in the very next moment.

“However,” Thorin says, one last effort to assert something before he loses himself in his love’s arms, for Bilbo is ahead of time again, “there is something I need to ask.”

Bilbo slows down his movements, his hands still on Thorin’s skin, and waits.

“You’ve led me time and time again. To my own home, out of my darkness, and to who I really am. Between you and me... _you_ were always first, in everything.”

Bilbo raises a hand; he strongly begs to differ. Thorin catches it and tenderly encloses it in both of his hands.

“If you’ll allow me this one time...” He is unsure how to word it.

“To be first?” Bilbo asks with a smile.

Thorin rolls them over gently and now Bilbo is gazing up at him with his luminous eyes, while Thorin stares at his mithril for a moment, still searching for words. “To show you how I feel about you, before anything else. To do things in _that_ order.”

“I would like that.” It’s foolish, but Bilbo seizes this chance. “While we’re sort of on the subject... I would ask if I _am_ your first.” Nothing wrong with putting gossip to rest for good.

“My first...” Thorin examines the statement with deep focus, as if it’s the theory of relativity. “No. You are the only one.” He looks deeply into Bilbo’s eyes. “My only one.” And it comes. “My One.”

Perhaps Bilbo didn’t expect to get this much out of this night, judging by the surprised look on his face. Thorin is not sure if that’s a good sign or not, but nothing can stop him now.

“I love you,” the words flow out of him, and he _lives_ them, like a prayer over Bilbo’s body, moving from place to place and resting on his heart again, mapping him, making him his, “Let me love you,” he says as he raises them both on their knees, facing each other, “...show you how much I’ve wanted you,” and his arms envelop Bilbo so as not to leave any space between them, “Give yourself to me,” and his hands move across his body slowly, every touch infused with energy. “I am yours,” comes Bilbo’s answer, and Thorin gently lays him back on the ground and begins kissing him, while Bilbo closes his eyes and repeats, “I am yours...”

* * *

...His body leaves him, his soul drifting into space in an endless wheel, and the flowers of the garden pop in and out like stars glittering in the darkness of the universe. He lets himself cross through space and time while Thorin’s fingers continue to trail across him, surrendering to this movement while he feels his love’s lips hot on his skin, and it seems as if Thorin knows exactly where and how to kiss him, and no two touches or kisses are the same, not one of them is random or rushed. And each of them leaves a mark on his body and soul, forever imprinted in his memory, and it is more than words - or flowers - can ever say. He sinks into an ocean of sensations, pleasure comes in wave after wave, and when the waves get higher he opens his eyes and sees.

The garden before him has changed. The freesias, daffodils, hyacinths and tulips are alive and real, while the roses and sunflower are small, not yet fully grown; the autumn flowers have disappeared entirely, while the ice flowers are still there, melting before his eyes. A new wave of pleasure hits him, he closes his eyes again, and when he reopens them it is summer, the spring flowers have faded and the sunflower and roses are blooming now, while the chrysanthemums, dahlias, begonias and pansies are just beginning to sprout from the ground. The ice flowers are gone, the sapphires dropped to the ground; only the diamond snowdrops still stand.

The scenery soon changes to fall in a breathtaking shift of shapes and colors before he can close his eyes again, and he can see the autumn flowers growing before his eyes, while those of summer are fading and the spring ones have disappeared completely. “Thorin...” he wants to show his love all of this, yet it doesn’t seem Thorin heard him, probably because he is busy rolling him over to try something new. Now Bilbo is facing the ground, and as he feels Thorin’s lips on his back he can hardly keep his head up to still witness the happenings in the garden. The last he sees are _all_ the flowers from all seasons present now, still preserving their vibrant colors, yet all frozen, some slightly covered in snow...

As his head drops down he catches sight of the tiny forget-me-nots that surround their bed for the night, and for all that it’s winter those are alive and bright and pure. He breathes Thorin’s name as the last wave breaks and a fire explodes inside and out of him, and feels Thorin whisper _I love you_ as his arms wrap around him, and all movement ceases. Bilbo turns to face Thorin, and now the garden is restored to its original look, each flower fitting its season. Only _he_ is different; he has been made new. _I love you, Thorin_ , he whispers as he drops to the ground, still and breathless...

...Such it is that Thorin loved him, in and out of time, and the passion he would have poured into the making of a gift magnified the love he had been so long waiting to release. And Bilbo didn’t tell him this, but, courting or not, nothing could top the gift that Thorin gave him tonight.

* * *

“I wanted to tell you I love you. That night, in Mirkwood, when you kissed me for the first time. I couldn’t, because of that blasted ring. I _said_ the words and could tell you couldn’t hear me.”

“I wasn’t sure I wanted you to hear mine,” says Thorin.

“I did. I wasn’t sure of their truth... until now.” Bilbo breathes. “You love me,” he says in perfect contentment. He talks endlessly, telling Thorin how upset he was over the gossip he’s heard earlier, how he “practiced his Khuzdul” in the wardrobe while thinking of none other than the confounded dwarf before him... His fingers brush against his love’s wrists while Thorin is pinning him down to the bed in a possessive gesture, his lips still exploring Bilbo’s body in the aftermath of their lovemaking. They are upstairs now, it is almost morning, but sleep will not come. They haven’t had enough of each other.

“I do. I have loved you for a long time.”

“How long?”

“From the beginning,” says Thorin. “If there ever was a beginning.”

Bilbo grins. “You know, I don’t just love you. I also _like you_. I like you so much, especially when you’re so deep like this in your reflections.”

“It is you who stirs this in me. You make me into someone new. You... My One. My Heart. My everything.”

“Oh. I almost forgot entirely. Hold that thought. Thorin... Everything you said... your feelings for me... all that is going to be the case for a while?”

“Forever... for my part.”

“Right.” Bilbo has to put this dizzying statement out of his mind for the moment if he’s going to finally say that other thing he wanted to say this evening.

“I have the Arkenstone. Legolas left it with me earlier. He didn’t like what it was doing to his father. I’ve wanted to give it to you all evening,” he fires in rapid succession, as if trying to rip a bandaid right off. “I kind of... lost track of that, what with one thing and another.” He gives Thorin a shy smile. “It seems you’re not the only one who’s been doing things out of order this evening.”

“Where is the Arkenstone now?” Thorin asks, lifting his head to see Bilbo, small beads of sweat still dripping on his face.

“It’s in my coat. Which I think is... on the floor?”

Thorin reaches inside Bilbo’s coat and pulls out the pouch and finally the Arkenstone emerges, something perky in its usual brightness. Thorin beholds it for a moment, then puts it back in Bilbo’s coat.

“You’ve done things in _perfect_ order,” he murmurs against his love’s ear, and as the night breaks into day, Bilbo is taken for another trip, body and soul drifting towards the Mountain below where the flowers will change with the seasons again, and the heaven above that is a wheel that ever spins, boundless and endless, forever waiting for him.

“This dream never ends,” you said

“This feeling never goes

The time will never come

To slip away”

“This wave never breaks,” you said

“The sun never sets again

These flowers

Will never fade”

“This world never stops,” you said

“This wonder never leaves

The time will never come

To say goodbye”

“This tide never turns,” you said

“This night never falls again

These flowers

Will never die”

“This dream always ends,” I said

“This feeling always goes

The time always comes

To slip away”

“This wave always breaks,” I said

“The sun always sets again

And these flowers

Will always fade”

“This world always stops,” I said

“This wonder always leaves

The time always comes

To say goodbye”

“This tide always turns,” I said

“This night always falls again

And these flowers

Will always die”

(The Cure, _Bloodflowers_ )


	6. Descent

“Love, it was your breath. Were I just that part

of me that you made last, and not the whole,

Love, heaven-ruling, you would know. Your heart

Of light raised me. Now your eternal wheel -

Constructed and set spinning by desire -

Held me intent by what it made me feel,

Its harmony.”

(Dante’s _Divine Comedy_ , from Canto 1 of _Heaven_ )

It was around noon when Bilbo woke up, totally embarrassed to have missed his usual morning activities, and surprised to find himself in a new bed! Yet it was not his new surroundings that gave away the memory of last night, but a new sensation in his body: the feeling of strong arms enclosing him in a perfect circle, arms that were part of him as much as they belonged to another. And when he moved ever so slightly and saw that the only arms present were the usual two he possessed, he wondered how it was even possible to be separated from the other half of him; so powerful was the feeling of Thorin around him, still holding him and making him whole...

Thorin was not anywhere in sight. No doubt he had woken up earlier to attend to Legolas’ departure and continue his daily work on restoring various parts of Erebor. Bilbo shifted lazily, trying to look around, and his eyes detected a small table close to the bed that hosted a covered plate and some pieces of paper. At the thought of food he found it easier to get up and begin getting dressed. He noticed his mithril shirt lying on a chair, and as he put it on, his mind began to spin in a calm rhythm, singling out one moment of last night’s events. It was sometime after he had told Thorin _I am yours_ , as he felt every inch of his body brought alive and electrified, that Thorin gave him one last gaze of uncertainty, and all Bilbo could do was repeat, _I love you, Thorin, I am yours_... and he felt Thorin’s hands remove his shirt with the same affection as when he helped him put it on the first time... Strangely, only now, as he remembered that moment, could Bilbo really go there in his mind, really understand...

 _Why did you give me the mithril?_ he had pressed Thorin that night in Mirkwood when he stood behind the veil of the ring with newfound courage and restless questions.

_I’m in love with you..._

Bilbo had not known, then, what to do with that statement. Only now he could see it for what it was: the mithril _was_ significant; it had always been. And suddenly everything he had done, during the quest and after, Bilbo’s struggle to keep Thorin alive and his persistence in following him, seemed to pale in comparison to what Thorin had quite assuredly felt for him for some time. Thorin had loved him through much of their adventure; in a sense, he had loved him first. As Bilbo realized this, he wanted to bolt out of the room, go and find Thorin at once and ask him to interrupt any work so he could have him all to himself, to tell him, to show him, to love him for all the time when he hadn’t known...

Yet perhaps a more practical proof of love was to fulfill whatever wishes Thorin had now, to try to stay in the present and do what was needed. He finished getting dressed and inspected the plate before him, which contained a fairly large breakfast, and as he bit into a bread roll his eyes fell upon the equally sizable papers that lay on the table.

It was a note from Thorin, of course, and if it weren’t for its length it would do well to reproduce it here in full. Thorin opened with a long enumeration of endearments, some in Khuzdul, such as _malabthȗn, khathiz anlȃkh, ibrizbakn_ , he called him, and Bilbo breathed in perfect contentment at the thought of being Thorin’s “adored one”. Then Thorin promised Bilbo that last night had been real, _I know how you must have doubted such moments in the past; I am so sorry I was not more forthcoming with my feelings for you then. But this time I must have you know it was real and I stand by everything I said and did. I love you, now and forever, and I can’t wait to be with you again_...

Then Thorin expressed concern about the ring, as last night he had felt evil not far from himself shortly before Bilbo’s peaceful presence and their subsequent merging could repel it. He reminded Bilbo that Thrain had advised against bringing the ring to Erebor. _My love, I don’t want any harm to come to either of us, especially you. I am willing to temporarily place it in my cousin’s keeping as we discussed, and am no longer reserved about the lack of secrecy that this may bring. Therefore, if you are still in agreement as you were a month ago, please see Dain today, as soon as possible, and leave the ring with him; he will know what to do_.

Next, Thorin urged him to take Dwalin with him as his bodyguard everywhere he went, both in and out of the Mountain, with the exception of Bilbo’s various lessons, where he would have others for company. _I will instruct Dwalin on his new assignment first thing this morning, and upon your waking he will be ready to accompany you where you need to go_. Bilbo was welcome to revisit the garden if he wished; should he decide to go there, he was cleared to let Dwalin in on the garden’s mysterious apparition.

Last, Thorin addressed the Arkenstone. He asked Bilbo to keep it for now, until they could figure out the best way to return it to Thranduil. _I trust you above anyone else. Keep it with you at all times_ , the page read, and Bilbo breathed in the letters with great pleasure, thoroughly amazed at this turn of events...

By the time he reached the end of this note, Bilbo was of the mind to go to his room, find his backpack and retrieve the contract he had signed in Bag End. He would definitely get a kick out of comparing the two, for they surely were of compatible length at least! He smiled fondly as he beheld Thorin’s written name; only, instead of “son of Thrain” this time he read “Thorin, the happiest dwarf of Mahal’s creation”. Bilbo laughed, and held the note close to his chest, speaking “and the sappiest” into the paper. Then he made his way to the door, note in hand, not oblivious to the fact that for the first time he had the luxury of owning _written_ Khuzdul words, from Thorin no less; how both right and unbelievable this felt!

At the door, now there were two new dwarves standing guard, with not quite so fierce a demeanor as the pair he was used to. They immediately introduced themselves, bowed to him, and explained that they would guard _his_ room from now on, by the king’s orders, and that they were presently at Thorin’s door only because they had been informed that this was where Master Baggins was at the moment. Bilbo was a bit confused, yet of course acquiesced politely per his amiable nature, and didn’t ask a single question. The guards followed him, boots clanking heavily on the ground as he moved to his own room, and promptly stationed themselves at the door.

Once in his room, Bilbo changed his clothes, transferred the ring, the Arkenstone and the newly-acquired note from Thorin - which he decided it was impossible to part with - into his blue tunic, and thus dressed, stepped out of the room. “Will Master Baggins be returning any time soon?” asked the guards. Bilbo eyed them in disbelief: was this really going to be part of his day from now on? He answered that they could take the afternoon off, for he had much to do and wasn’t going to be in his room for many hours. Then he bid them good day and left, eager to start his.

“What in the world is going on?” he asked upon finding Dwalin in the room next door. “I’m getting all this attention. I’m not used to it.”

“What do you think is going on?” said Dwalin, regarding him seriously from under his bushy eyebrows. “It’s you and Thorin; you’re _an item_ now,” he articulated with great importance.

“Oh. I suppose we are,” said Bilbo, surprised at the forwardness of the statement.

“Yeah, Thorin made it official a few hours ago. He wanted to make sure everybody would show you respect around here. So expect to be treated like... the king’s boyfriend, I guess.”

“Right. So, are there any expectations of me?”

“Not at the moment. There is plenty of work to be done in the Mountain, if you wish to be of use, though I’m sure Thorin would say there’s no hurry.”

“I’m not very familiar with the Mountain yet,” said Bilbo. “I do know my way around books, though. Perhaps that’s something to keep in mind for a later time?”

“Sure,” said Dwalin. “Until then, we should get you a little more acclimated to this place.”

They went in search of Dain, and found him supervising and participating in the project of moving the gold away from the treasure halls of Erebor. Managing this monumental task had by no means come first in the order of business. Dain and his dwarves, together with those from Thorin’s company who stayed in the Mountain after the battle had had other priorities: offering winter shelter to the men of Laketown, providing heat in the Mountain for them, and preparing numerous accommodations for dwarves that were expected to arrive later. Dain had also coordinated the transportation of supplies from the Iron Hills to Erebor - food and clothes for everyone in the Mountain -, and also helped the Men begin construction in Dale, where they were to move after the coming of Spring. Now that Thorin was back in Erebor, his cousin was finally able to begin tackling the gold.

Thus occupied they found Dain, himself sifting through coins and dumping them into carts, while other dwarves were sending the carts to various destinations, to higher levels or deep into Erebor’s vaults. When Dwalin called his attention, Dain couldn’t help grinning from ear to ear upon seeing the unmistakable glow in Bilbo’s appearance.

“Looking good today, Master Baggins. I dare say, very refreshed. What might I do for you?”

From this Bilbo deduced that the news of him and Thorin being “an item” had not yet reached Dain. He pulled him aside and took the ring out of his pocket. “Here. Thorin now agrees you should have this.”

Dain took the ring, threw it up in the air only to catch it with his other hand, and placed it carelessly in his own fur coat pocket. “I take it things have finally progressed...?” he asked. “I must remember to congratulate my cousin on finally making his conquest.”

“Lord Dain,” said Bilbo, trying to keep a serious countenance and not give away details on who actually made the conquest happen, “I’m grateful for your help in the matter of the ring, but if you please, keep it safe and be careful with it at all times...”

“Hold on a second,” said Dain, whipping out a pencil and piece of paper from his coat. Hastily, he wrote a note and shouted at a dwarf who was working nearby to go dispatch a raven to carry said note to the Iron Hills. The dwarf took the paper from Dain and departed in a hurry, and Bilbo marvelled at this complete lack of secrecy!

“All right,” Dain turned back towards him, “I’ll keep your ring for now, Master Baggins. We shall see if my wife is on board. Where are you taking him next?” he asked Dwalin.

“I’m not sure. Wherever he pleases,” Dwalin replied.

“Maybe show him _Id-uslun_ next?” said Dain. “Now that you are Thorin’s boy toy, you should probably get acquainted with that,” he winked at Bilbo.

“Y-yes. I should probably get acquainted with that,” Bilbo repeated mechanically, and his eyes turned to Dwalin with a “save me” look.

“It’s a giant musical instrument,” Dwalin explained as he pulled him away from Dain and they resumed their walking. “It’s mostly made of rock, which is its natural makeup. Our ancestors added metal to the construction, yet its natural beauty has only been improved by those alterations. We Dwarves feel _Id-uslun_ was partly created by this Mountain; one of a kind in Middle Earth. Come. I’ll give you a quick tour.”

They went a few levels underground, to a new hall Bilbo hadn’t seen before, lower than Thorin’s birthplace. There it stood, a rock of impressive height, that had been carved to reveal vertical stone plates of various dimensions and differently-sized spaces between them, attached to several levels of the giant rock. Bilbo gaped in astonishment at the uniqueness of the structure that seemed to host a labyrinth of small paths inside, and was overcome with the sudden wish to have Thorin there with him...

“How does it work? Can it play music on its own?” he asked, trying to shift his mind back to the present moment.

“It used to,” answered Dwalin. “But most of the time it needed a person to play music from within. I doubt that it works right now, though. Thanks to Smaug’s presence for so many years, it’s probably a bit out of order. Which I don’t think Thorin will terribly mind.”

“Oh?”

“He is especially fond of music, as you know. I’m sure he’d fancy the two of you spending time here repairing this thing, if it were broken.”

At this, Bilbo felt a warm current flow through his body. “Oh, Dwalin. I would love nothing more. But tell me, do you know _when_ this instrument played music? Was it at times of particular significance, or was it random?”

“It was not random. When it played on its own, it was always on special occasions that the Mountain itself must have perceived somehow. For example, it is said that it emitted sounds on the day when Thrain married Thorin’s mother, and then again when she gave birth to their children. The music it played then... they say it can still be heard in this rock. It’s like a record-keeper of special times. But again, some of it may no longer work.”

“And what does its name mean? _Id-uslun_?”

“It means _The Waterfall_. When it plays, its sounds tend to come down, as if falling from the top and getting heavier and heavier as they get closer to the ground. It’s like the music is _falling_ , if that makes sense. And the whole structure resembles a solidified waterfall.”

Bilbo looked up in reverence. “Part of me wonders when I’m going to wake up from this dream. Which reminds me, I would love to stop at another... pretty dreamy place next.”

“Good,” said Dwalin. “Ask Thorin to bring you here next time. He’ll show you how to get inside the instrument and how to play it. Now, where do you wish to go?”

“I wish to go to Thorin’s rooms. In his bedroom... there’s a way to get secret access to this place I’d like to see. He said I could tell you about it.”

Dwalin gave him a puzzled look, yet agreed at once to go with Bilbo and unlock the doors to Thorin’s rooms. Once inside, Bilbo explained to him that only last night a mesmerizing garden appeared out of nowhere. He had not told Thorin he had seen the area the night before and thus knew that it wasn’t supposed to look like that. And Thorin had not mentioned that he was surprised at the garden’s apparition either. Due to the more strenuous priorities of last night and some mild need for sleep, they had not had the chance to delve into the subject. So Bilbo prudently decided not to let Dwalin in on any details; instead he just said, “Thorin and I came across a really pretty garden last night, which can be accessed... from his wardrobe.”

Dwalin gave him an incredulous look. “Uh-huh. Why do I have the feeling that there’s more to this little affair? Care to explain further?” he asked, pointing in a very obvious manner to the unassuming wardrobe.

Bilbo showed him the password panel, and invited him to go down in the elevator, assuring Dwalin in the most animated manner that the garden was something out of this world, really worth seeing. Yet when they finished their descent, Bilbo was surprised to discover that no such garden was present! Dwalin raised two big inquisitive eyebrows, trying to keep a respectful silence, while Bilbo paced around for quite a while.

“It was here! We both saw it!”

In place of the wonderland of last night, the barren soil with failed attempts at growing flowers was evident once again, as were the various small patches of grass and the table next to the elevator, with its pouches of seeds and its gardening instructions. Bilbo rushed outside, where it was equally empty: no tree stood tall and proud anymore, just a bit of grass which at best held the promise of growing things...

Oh, how he wished to tell Dwalin all that he knew! He bit his lip and pondered further, but there was nothing to be done at the moment.

“So, what’s the deal?” asked Dwalin, trying his best to remain neutral and patient.

“You know... I. Don’t. Know. Something really strange is going on. But. It’s getting close to my lunch time, and after that I have sword pratice with Fili. So why don’t we head back, and I will see you again at 3. Maybe we can revisit this place then.”

Thus Bilbo was soon back in his room, where he had lunch with his good friend Bofur, who came to personally congratulate him on finally “breaking the ice” with Thorin. It seemed the news had spread to some extent, and since people were taking it well, Bilbo felt more at ease. Bofur had been busy reopening access to mining, though he was more eager to share that he, like many others, had set his eyes on the lovely dwarrowdam rumored to have “queenly aspirations”. Such it was that Bilbo found out that her name was Mathild, and that Bofur felt threatened by the insane competition revolving around the concept of capturing her heart. “Well, you’re one of the fearless twelve who travelled with Thorin,” Bilbo encouraged him. “That’s got to be a recommendation. I’d say you stand a good chance, but you’ve got to make a move. Thorin and I waited too long to make one,” he sighed with a frown, while privately admitting he couldn’t exacly quarrel with their chosen time.

“Ha!” replied Bofur, suddenly amused. “Not so long as you might think!”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Bilbo, only to run into Bofur’s meaningful gaze resting upon a certain piece of clothing he was wearing. “Oh, right. The mithril again. I’m never going to hear the end of it.”

“Don’t worry, Bilbo. At the time we all thought Thorin was being a bit hasty, actually. Speaking of which, I am working on a courting gift myself, and plan on presenting it to Mathild soon. However, the fact that I’m one of Thorin’s twelve may not amount to much. I hear at least another one of us aims just as highly.”

“Really? Another dwarf from the Company is interested in her? Who, if I may ask?”

“Dwalin,” said Bofur miserably. “So you see, I have some serious competition.”

“Hmmm. That _is_ rough,” Bilbo agreed. “I guess, as they say, may the best win?”

“Yeah. If he wins her I won’t hold it against him,” said Bofur apprehensively. “But some circumstances _may_ lead to animosity.”

Bilbo reassured him as best as he could, citing _loyalty, honor, a willing heart_ and other memorable slogans he had heard during their journey that spoke of the unshakable bond that united the dwarves in Thorin’s Company. Then Bofur left, and Bilbo changed into his green coat again, the warmest of all and thus the most suitable for the cold weather outside the Mountain, where he went next, ready for his sword lesson.

“By the way, Kili and I made the call since the hug,” said Fili with a pleased look that had “Finally” written all over it. “The Carrock hug, that is. We knew that after that it was only a matter of time. So, what’s it like to date Thorin?”

Bilbo looked down, a bit overwhelmed, and laughed. “It’s starting to feel like I’m dating the whole Mountain,” he said. “Well, maybe not dating. But... I feel like I’m involved with it somehow. Like I’m experiencing it more... closely, I guess.”

His observation was received with utmost approval, and they began their dueling, Fili wasting no time in remarking on Bilbo’s awesome posture and sword form improvement. Kili came by at some point and admired the two while commenting here and there, “Wow, you got so much better overnight!” Bilbo was not at all surprised at the change they saw in him, that he could only begin to notice in himself. Yet there was no time to take in how deeply his bond with Thorin affected him now, for when the lesson was over he went back to Dwalin, eager to go down to the garden area once more.

They descended again, Dwalin grumbling with a secretly amused attitude, “Maybe this area was just Thorin’s genius plan to tumble a certain hobbit in the grass behind extra-closed doors? That’s pretty creative, I’ll give him that. Why settle for just a humble bedroom when you can have a new level to yourselves? And yeah, the beautiful garden you keep referring to was probably just...”

They exited as the elevator reached the ground floor, and Dwalin stopped in the middle of his sentence. A breathtaking sight had popped up out of nowhere: a garden made out of shiny colorful gems, with flowers representing all seasons...

“Mahal’s axe and beard,” Dwalin muttered. “Do me a favor.” Prematurely assuming he had already received Bilbo’s permission, he knocked their heads together a bit too roughly, causing Bilbo to yelp a loud “Owww!” and retreat with caution. “Sorry,” said Dwalin, and proceeded to knock his head against a wall this time. “Just double-checking I’m actually awake.”

“Dwalin! Please! Of course it is real! What have I been telling you?!”

“But how can it be? We were here earlier, and this thing wasn’t!”

“How indeed,” echoed Bilbo. He moved further from Dwalin and began examining the flowers and looking for the area where Thorin and he had made love for the first time. “Here...” he said, drawing closer, “There were flowers here. _Real_ flowers. Oh, Yavanna,” he whispered as he saw them. They were still there, small and pure and wonderfully fresh, and Bilbo almost relived the moment he took off his coat, placed it on the damp ground and asked Thorin to lie down there; on his green coat that he was wearing once again... Such it is that it suddenly dawned on him.

“It’s the coats,” he spoke, his heart pausing in utter amazement. Then he took a moment to assess the volume of his voice, and continued quietly. “It’s the Arkenstone reacting with the clothes that Thorin ordered for me. He said something on the day I received them. This green one is for what has not yet come to pass, while the blue one... is for what is. For the present.”

“Did you say something?” shouted Dwalin from his distance.

“I think I know what’s happening here, Dwalin,” Bilbo answered. “But I’ll need to tell Thorin first.” _This must be it_ , he thought to himself. _The Arkenstone made this place into what it will be in the future. When I placed the stone in my green coat, it brought about a future version of this garden. And it brought it back to its present version when I placed it in my blue tunic, the one that Thorin said stands for the present. Is this really possible...?_ And if it hadn’t been for Dwalin’s somewhat close proximity, he would have absolutely wanted to consult the Arkenstone right then. He had quite a few questions to ask of that precious object that shone in his coat, bright and pure and always in sync with its treasured Mountain and its beloved king; not to mention, Bilbo thought as he took a deep breath, now also in sync with a part of himself.


	7. The World Spins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains major references to Love Is A Shield Part 1.
> 
> All Khuzdul is from [www.dwarrowscholar.com](https://www.dwarrowscholar.com)

The king’s office was a small room located close to the throne. It hosted an armchair, a desk, a chair, and a "visitors-only" couch that Thorin had made a point of not allowing himself to nap on.

Most of the king's meetings took place in this room. Every morning, he saw Balin and Fili, who held the highest positions in his council, and sometimes Dain as well. They’d update him of their progress in their respective areas of supervision, and he’d give them directions for the following steps. Next, on a less regular basis, he saw dwarves who managed smaller projects, such as Master Bundur, Kili, Bofur, Gloin and Nori. Once a week, he also saw Tauriel, Bifur, Bombur and Dori.

Each day after his morning meetings, Thorin would go and inspect different parts of Erebor to ensure that everybody was working as instructed. After what was often times a late lunch, he picked one project and worked alongside the dwarves assigned to it; a few hours later he’d move on to a second one. At the end of the day he’d have more meetings; those were reserved for listening and trying to meet the different needs of the people who lived in the Mountain, dwarves and men alike. He had timed those hearings in the evening so he could give each person however long they needed, without feeling pressed to be somewhere else. That of course resulted in many late nights spent in his office, with no chance for sleep...

Today had been somewhat special; Thorin had started the day by proudly announcing Bilbo as his intended, and urging everyone to treat him accordingly. His choice project had been working in the library with Ori, whom he advised on the acquisition of books about flowers, trees and other wonders of nature. He had also gone with Master Bundur to the site of last evening's explosion and reviewed the safety conditions for relighting the forges per their recent discussion. He had also made sure to visit the dwarves who had been injured and ask Oin about their recovery.

For once, his evening was looking pretty wide-open. He didn’t know this, but word had spread in the Mountain like wildfire about him finally claiming his love interest. The dwarves who shared the news asked others to give the king a break and let him enjoy his happiness for one evening.

He had fallen asleep in his armchair while waiting for the usual evening visits, when he heard a knock on his door.

“I’m going to just say this,” said Balin upon entering, determined to relieve Thorin of his duties. “There will be no visits tonight. If a stray dwarf or man should wander in here, I’ll be happy to take over for you. I think by now everyone knows of your updated relationship status. It’s the least we can all do, to give you an evening off.”

“Thank you, Balin.” Thorin's eyes were staring absently in the distance, his mind lost in thoughts.

“Are you all right, laddie?”

“I’ve never felt better. And yet... There is a lot weighing on my mind. He...” The words stopped. Maybe it was the ring that was worrying him, or the lack of explanation for last night's dreamy garden. “I hear Dwalin took him to see the Waterfall. I find myself wanting...”

“To take him there yourself?”

Thorin nodded. “Tonight. Now, even. I want to show him everything about that place.”

“So why not do so? No one is stopping you.”

“Right. I just... It’s unusual, that’s all. I feel this rush inside me, to show him, to do everything with him _now_ , as if it cannot wait. I am used to waiting and practicing patience. And now all of a sudden there’s a new rhythm.”

“It’s because he’s in _here_ ,” said Balin wisely, pointing to Thorin’s heart. “He’s very different from you. You’re probably feeling what he’s feeling.”

Thorin remained silent. He wondered if Bilbo felt what _he_ was feeling: if Thorin managed to slow him down at all, not that he would have ever wanted to. And he wondered if _Bilbo_ wanted to see the Waterfall tonight.

“Go to him,” said Balin almost in an ordering tone. “Just this once, I’ll watch over our kingdom. You can trust me.”

“Very well.” Thorin rose from his armchair, clasping Balin’s shoulder in gratitude. Then he left his office, and after making a stop at the dining hall to grab a dinner plate, he walked to his rooms.

He was not surprised to find his suite empty, despite having mentioned in his note that Bilbo was free to use it any time. He spent a few minutes in solitude, eating and going over the events of the day; those of the night before he had had no time to remember. Yet he felt the presence of Bilbo in himself at all times, and now it pounded and ached, tired of waiting. Thus he soon found himself at Bilbo’s door, which was answered promptly upon his knocking.

“Hi,” said Bilbo with a smile of uncertainty, and Thorin held him in his arms without words. Only now it all came back to him, the beauty of the night before, this person ever-present in his mind, the love they’d shared; and a feeling of peace descended upon him.

“I think I have figured something out,” said Bilbo when he finally managed to extricate his vocal chords from the strain of Thorin’s grip on him.

“Tell me.”

“It’s about the mithril you gave me. I think it was meant to show me... to tell me that you loved me.”

“Indeed,” said Thorin with no small amount of pride.

“Based on everything I have heard since then... and believe me, I _have_ heard a thing or two from quite a few noisy dwarves... am I right to believe it was a courting gift?”

“Yes, you are,” said Thorin a bit worriedly, not sure where this was going.

“So, maybe it’s not too late for me to say I accept it? In case the fact that I’m wearing it is not statement enough,” said Bilbo teasingly. Little did he know that the mithril was no longer the only gift he had unknowingly accepted.

“It’s never too late,” answered Thorin, “and by accepting it you have done me the greatest honor. And made me the happiest...”

“The happiest dwarf?” Bilbo completed with great amusement. “You should not settle for that, you know. I would like to see you break your own record.” Then his demeanor suddenly changed, and he became dark and grave.

“There is more I have to say. Thorin... You almost died. Without telling me how you felt about me.”

“I know. At the time I was... unsure of how my words would be received. I thought I’d let the mithril do the talking.”

“I understand. _Now_ , I understand what it means. But then I didn’t! Thorin... you said farewell to me on Ravenhill. And you told me to go home and plant my trees. You were ready to _die_. I would have never known, do you understand? How could you not tell me?”

“I had wronged you. I didn’t deserve you. I still don’t.”

Bilbo looked at him in disbelief, with a big frown. “Thorin. None of that mattered, not to mention none of that is even true.”

“Bilbo... I was not ready to die. I didn’t want to leave you. I asked my Maker to let me come back so I could fix the things I had done.”

“You came back for me?”

“Yes. I also saw you. In a vision, in a world where you were fine after my death, and in another, where you were not. To me, the world where you were fine was the better one; I couldn’t bear to see you unhappy. I was asked to choose between the two, and when I thought there was no hope for me to come back, I chose that world. It was the hardest thing, because it seemed that if you could be happy after my death, as you were in that world, then perhaps you had not loved me to begin with.”

“There is no such world,” said Bilbo firmly. “There will never be.”

“What do you mean?”

“I am sure I loved you in that world too. Maybe you just didn’t look closely enough.”

Thorin looked down. “Maybe I didn’t. I am sorry. I did want to come back, though. There was a voice that called to me from this world, that kept my will going. My love for you responded to it.”

Bilbo regarded him pensively. He was deeply immersed in memory, trying to pick the right words. “On Ravenhill, after you said your farewell and lost contact with me... I told you I loved you and I begged you to stay.”

Thorin lifted his gaze in surprise. “You did?”

“Yes. And I meant it. I loved you. Then... and now; though it was a bit rushed, what with you dying and all. I didn’t exactly have time to dive into it. But I said it to you, and I meant it. _Amrali astû_ ,” he completed longingly, searching his love's eyes for approval.

“ _Ya amrali astû_ ,” Thorin murmured, transfixed with the wonder of still being deemed worthy of this person's attention, let alone love. “Then it is you who kept me alive. Long enough for me to be able to think... to make my request.”

“I certainly hope that I helped... with that,” said Bilbo. “I think that’s why Thranduil wanted me in his kingdom; he thought I could bring back the dead.”

“You did help. You were there with me. You didn’t want to let me go.”

“It is strange,” said Bilbo, “that we should talk of love like this. As if it already happened in the past. I mean, I just finally got these words out of you properly, and you got mine; yet it feels...”

“I know. _Khathiz amrâl-mâ_ ,” said Thorin. “Our love... It knows no bounds. Past, present and future, all in one...” Bilbo didn’t let him finish. He kissed him then, for all the time he would have wanted to do so, when Thorin had been gone from this world.

“I would like to spend this evening with you,” said Thorin; and without waiting to hear Bilbo’s “Me too” properly, he added hastily, “Is the Arkenstone with you?”

“Yes,” said Bilbo. “I have it in my coat.”

“Good.” He made for the door, nudging Bilbo to follow him. “Master Baggins will be gone for the evening,” he said to the guards, while Bilbo waved at them politely. “I trust you gave the ring to Dain as I suggested?” he asked as they moved away.

“Yes. Thorin, where are we going? What’s the hurry?”

“I want... I _need_...” said Thorin, not able to hide his emotion. “There is something that I simply cannot wait to do.” He took Bilbo's hand and pulled him a bit forcefully along the hallway. “Come with me.” They went down, crossing through the Mountain’s levels in a rush, and before they knew it they were standing at the base of the rocky formation that made up the instrument Bilbo had seen hours earlier. Thorin grabbed a small lantern and led them on a stone staircase behind the structure, and they climbed about two thirds of the way up. There they could see a small entry into the instrument itself, which offered access to the very heart of the Waterfall.

“I want to stay here for a while,” said Thorin. “I wish to experience this place from the inside, with you.”

He was the first to enter. Bilbo followed him, and together they beheld the musical stones up close, and Bilbo marveled at their immensity. In their vicinity were placed hammers made of different materials, of various sizes. “You can produce all kinds of sounds by striking the rock with these hammers,” Thorin said, and proceeded to hit the stones with one of them. “You can try it if you’d like.”

Bilbo tried; yet, for all his practice with axes, he was not great at holding such a heavy tool in his hand and hit with precision at the same time. “It’s a bit like sword-fighting, but with a heavier sword,” he observed. “Perhaps I can manage to strike one of these stones, but to turn to the next one an instant later seems difficult.”

Thorin moved towards the stones and began hitting them in different successions, creating a range of musical patterns, while attempting to explain. “Your body makes the first move, and that indeed has to be precise; the sound moves with it. Then, as you feel the sound traveling, _your body_ moves with it. There’s a certain momentum that you can pick up from the energy released by the sound; a vibration that will help guide you when you turn.”

Bilbo regarded him with admiration. “Dwalin mentioned that this structure was once also able to play on its own and even record certain music. Did I understand that correctly?”

“Yes. There are two types of instances when it can play on its own. One is on special occasions. Nobody knows how that music was created. The other is when a person stands here, composing their own piece. If you play a sequence of notes that the Waterfall likes, it will reproduce them. So you can be standing here hitting these stones and trying different combinations of notes and sounds, and then suddenly you may hear the last sequence you’ve produced being played without your input. When that occurs, we take it as a sign that the Waterfall has liked that composition. And it will play it again and again for a few minutes, as a background melody, allowing you to improvise over it. When that happens, it’s an amazing feeling: you’re standing here, both surrounded by the music you hear and playing new music at the same time; you are both creating and consuming your own creation.”

“Has it ever played something of yours?” asked Bilbo.

“Yes. Once, in my youth. I wrote a song for the Mountain itself. I tried a few sequences, and at some point I heard the echo of my notes played back to me, and I knew that the Waterfall approved of them. You can imagine my joy. It was as if the Mountain itself responded to me, personally.”

“You’ll have to play that for me some time,” said Bilbo.

Thorin smiled. “I will. I also tried to compose something in the last month. I played it in many different ways, but the Waterfall never repeated anything. That is why I suspect that part of it is broken. It is possible it did like some of my composition and stored it in its memory, just as it is possible it still keeps the music of the past; it may just be that it cannot play anything back.”

“This song that you wrote... What is it about?”

“It is a song that I thought could remind you of the Shire. A song about home, the way you see it.”

“Maybe the Waterfall - or the whole Mountain, for that matter - just doesn’t like songs about the Shire,” said Bilbo with a laugh. “Maybe such music is too “green” for a place like Erebor.”

“I think the Waterfall and the Mountain are pretty... open-minded,” Thorin replied. “Not to mention they know I love you.”

At this, Bilbo’s eyes turned dreamy and hopeful. “Then if they don't mind I would like to hear you play that.”

“Not now. It’s not finished.”

“Are you planning on finishing it?”

“One day. I will play it at the right time.”

“You’re being deep like that again,” said Bilbo. “Only you know what that means.”

“I know that time will come. The time when you will think of home and will want to return. I know that feeling, as I have been there myself. It will happen to you too, one day. Then I will play it for you, in the hope that you will remember.”

“Remember what?”

“That you have a home here too.”

Bilbo placed his fingers on Thorin’s lips, studying him attentively. He thought that he had never seen Thorin look the way he looked tonight. There was something surreal about him, surrounded by that stone, in semi-darkness, alive with the music around him, yet at the same time unmovable. He fit perfectly in that environment, and Bilbo wondered if at some point Thorin _was_ going to stop moving and become one with the rock...

“You are at your most beautiful here,” he said. “At least, from what I’ve seen. You are... I think it’s because you are where you truly belong.”

“I love being here with you,” said Thorin. He closed his eyes and relaxed, leaning his back against one of the stones.

“Home,” Bilbo whispered as he moved closer to him. “You are home.” He placed a small kiss on Thorin's lips, then retreated to look at him once more, and touched his face very gently. Then he kissed him in another fleeting movement, and returned to contemplate him once again. It was always like this: when he experienced Thorin, he also experienced a _place_ , and each place gave Thorin a new light, a new color. This place was the closest to Thorin he had ever seen. He wanted so much to explore that part of him that still felt unattainable and high as the very rock they were sitting on, yet at the same time he could not take his eyes off his love.

Thorin brought his hands to his waist, the gesture that meant Bilbo could do whatever he wanted while Thorin would be waiting to see where he would lead. And Bilbo explored him in small bits and pieces, in the limited way their surroundings allowed, the harsh, tight and vertical space around them that was nothing like last night’s cozy garden. As he held that thought, Bilbo realized he had not yet said anything about the coats and the Arkenstone; but _now_ that definitely had to wait. “My home,” he whispered to Thorin, “Do you know where that is?” and he rested his head on Thorin’s heart as he had done so many times before, only now it was acknowledged, it was known and shared, celebrated in a new sensation flowing from his head down into the deep underground. “I do,” said Thorin. “I always do. My love... My Heart.” And he didn’t speak for a while, afraid to ask if Bilbo knew, too, afraid of any change words may bring...

They remained there in silent adoration, pressed against one another, listening to music as it moved from somewhere deep in this place, just the way Thorin wanted it for tonight. It was stone, and darkness, and cold and warmth at the same time, and Bilbo began to understand the quality of the music created in this Mountain. The instrument itself was solidified music, and it was waiting to explode with sound again. There were sounds that shot like arrows, sounds that cut like a knife; that plunged like a sword, that hit like an axe; that broke like glass; that swooshed like snow, that trickled like water. And somehow it seemed to Bilbo that they were all contained in Thorin's body, and they wanted to come out and be heard. Neither he nor Thorin knew that it was the Waterfall itself making a song for them, for that very moment. And it was not able to play it, but in Thorin the sounds found an echo, and both he and Bilbo could hear them build a symphony together, their harmony flowing in a crystalline motion, trying to break free...

After a while the music began to fade, and Thorin took Bilbo’s hand and led them out of the small cave and downward on the staircase. When they reached the base of the rock, Thorin expressed the desire to carry Bilbo in his arms all the way to their rooms. He wanted to transfer to Bilbo the vibrations he still felt in himself, now enhanced by the effort of moving upward. Bilbo accepted, and thus they ascended towards their level and entered their familiar hallway. There, Thorin released Bilbo and looked him in the eyes, trying to conjure a hint of politeness in his demeanor. He wished to ask something, but had no idea how to...

“Bilbo...”

_If last night was to your liking..._

_I wonder if I may ask..._

_If we may spend another night together_

But none of these words quite fit what he wanted to say. He didn’t want to impose anything on Bilbo, nor did he want to make it about himself and his wishes. Yet these words did sound like an imposition.

“I had a great time last night,” he heard his love in the next second, and Mahal knew there were no words as perfect.

Thorin held his hand. “Me too,” he said. He _could_ do this. He had nothing to fear. “If you would like... if this is not an imposition...” and at the exact same time that he spoke his next words, “I would love to spend tonight with you,” he heard Bilbo say, “Are you going to invite me in?”

So it was that they made their way to Thorin’s rooms, and, bilingual endearments aside, no more words were spoken that night.

* * *

Bilbo woke up the next day at a more reasonable hour, to find Thorin gone again, and another note lying on the table next to his breakfast. He read, which caused his cheeks to acquire a new kind of rosy glow, ate, and prepared for his day. As today’s lessons did not start until the afternoon, he decided he wanted to go to the garden area again. The day before, he had not thought to go outside the Mountain and check the appearance of the courtyard. He was most eager to do that now.

He found Dwalin ready for his task and they went, Bilbo wearing his green coat once again. The beautifully crafted garden was still there, and when they stepped through the door that led outside the Mountain, they saw the majestic oak tree standing in place of empty space.

“This wasn’t here yesterday either,” Dwalin pointed out. “Did you figure out what’s going on? What did Thorin have to say?”

“You know, I didn’t get a chance to tell him,” said Bilbo. “But yes, I believe I figured it out.” So the tree was part of the future version of this place. _But why?_ he asked himself. _Why is the Arkenstone doing this? Courting. It must have to do with courting. These clothes that Thorin had ordered for me... they were probably courting gifts of some sort. And the Arkenstone must know that Thorin is in love with me. Maybe it is applying this meaning of past, present and future... to another courting gift? This garden... is it possible that Thorin made it for me? I mean..._ _ **will**_ _make it. And this tree... maybe he will plant it... for me?_

Thorin had indicated that he wasn’t exactly doing things in the right order. Since until yesterday he had not known that Bilbo had retroactively accepted the mithril, and since it seemed that by Dwarven traditions a gift had to precede any more overt displays of affection, Thorin must have at least _thought_ of offering him another courting gift...

Revelation came to Bilbo at once. _We_ _ **didn’t**_ _do things out of order. He_ _ **did**_ _offer me a courting gift first. This garden, and this tree. He just didn’t know he was doing so, and neither did I. But this is the order things happened in. He offered his gift to me, the gift that he will be making once he sees that the attempts at growing a natural garden are going nowhere. The Arkenstone just brought it into the present. Thank Yavanna for that, or else I would have had to wait who knows how many months!_

 _Well, aren’t you just the best friend a hobbit could have_ , he whispered into his coat with great satisfaction. _Or a dwarf, since you appear to have sped up his courting process. I can’t wait to tell Thorin all about this. And there’s more, isn’t there. The garden... The way its seasons changed, flowers brought to life only to recede in the next few minutes... I should have known then. That is why the way he loved me had an effect on the flowers... the garden was made by him._

As he reached those conclusions, he found himself overtaken with the desire to get close to the tree in front of him, the tree that would grow out of Thorin’s acorn at some point in the future. Now that he understood those connections he thought that the tree must be intimately bound to Thorin. “Dwalin...” he turned to his bodyguard, “would it be a terrible inconvenience if I spent some time out here?”

“Not at all,” said Dwalin. “As long as you understand that I have to be here too.”

“Is it all right if I try to climb this tree?”

Dwalin looked confused for a moment. Perhaps it was a good thing that he didn’t catch the connection Bilbo saw between the tree and Thorin, or he would have said something utterly inappropriate concerning climbing. “Suit yourself,” he said instead. “I’m good where I’m sitting.” With that, Dwalin stretched and sat himself on the grass, pulling out his pipe and laying his axe aside.

“Thank you,” said Bilbo happily. He desperately wanted to wrap his arms around the tree and feel for its spirit, yet stopped himself, instead just touching its bark affectionately. “I love you, Thorin,” he whispered. “I love you more than ever, now that I know what happened. You were right; our love truly knows no bounds, at least as far as time goes.” He began climbing, and while doing so remembered the oak tree that had grown in Mirkwood on the night of their past love; another place, another time, but that tree was the proof that it _had_ happened and that their love had been real then too. And as he climbed, he couldn’t help but wonder how the tree in Mirkwood was doing, and for one moment wished he could see it again so he could compare the two...

...When he reached the tree top and looked around, his heart stopped. Instead of seeing the foothills of Erebor, the Lonely Mountain itself was in his sight, small, barely visible in the distance; and as he looked down, he saw a garden full of pink, red and violet flowers that had been slowly fading and were all turning purple, and a small tree among them that had lost all its pink-white flowers. A green-grey statue stood in the garden, lonely and unsettled. At once, he knew where he was. He was on the top of the oak tree in Mirkwood. The strangeness of the magic he had witnessed, it seemed, did not stop at courting coats and gardens, and did not involve only time. Space seemed to work in its own mysterious ways. Perhaps the two trees, the parent in Mirkwood and the child in Erebor, were linked somehow; they were related, after all!

He climbed down in haste, determined to get out of there at once and make his way back to Erebor in the only way that made earthly sense.

“Well, well, well,” he heard a powerful, familiar voice descend on him as he reached the bottom of the tree. “What do we have here. The very Halfling I was coming to claim in exchange for what was stolen from me. I see your king has anticipated me, and for once has spared me the nuisance of such a trip.” It was Thranduil.

“You were _always_ more precious to me than the Arkenstone,” the Elvenking continued in an impossibly pleased tone. He looked down at Bilbo, his face lit with a great smirk of happiness and his eyes glowing with pure satisfaction as he extended an arm in the Halfling’s direction, seeking to collect him.


	8. The Flame And The Void

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The quote in italics in the last paragraph of the Bilbo POV segment is from Friedrich Nietzsche's "Beyond Good And Evil", though its intended meaning here departs from the one attributed to Nietzsche's text.
> 
> All Khuzdul is from [www.dwarrowscholar.com](https://www.dwarrowscholar.com).

“I beg you to release me,” said Bilbo frantically, trying his best to remain both polite and steady on his feet. “Please. I need to get back to Erebor immediately.”

“If you need to “get back to Erebor” then how come you’re here?” asked Thranduil. “Got lost on the way?”

“I don’t know how I got here,” Bilbo replied. Suddenly he felt afraid. He remembered the Elvenking was skilled at reading other people’s minds, and resolved to try to shut his own instantly, and say no more.

“Oh, I think we’re going to find out soon enough,” said Thranduil, keeping a firm hand on Bilbo’s back as he led him to the palace. “Come, Halfling. It’s just around tea time; I shall be glad of your company.”

As they walked in and advanced towards the dining hall, Bilbo thought it was fruitless to try to escape. The Woodland Realm was well guarded. The realization that the ring was no longer with him lingered, a feeling of discomfort as he found he was not used to being completely on his own as he was now; and he felt a strange void within himself.

“Something is different about you,” Thranduil remarked. “You seem happier and... relieved, as if a burden has been lifted off of you. Which puts in my mind... may I take your coat? It’s plenty warm in here; winter has moved on from these lands.”

“Oh, no, no, no. I’d much rather keep it on if it’s all the same to you.”

Thranduil gestured lightly to two of his guards. In vain did Bilbo struggle; they seized him and removed his coat in one effortless movement.

The Elvenking took hold of the coat right away, ignoring Bilbo’s desperate and outright scandalized pleas. “All those who pass through my kingdom have to submit themselves for inspection; you must know this by now. Weapons, I do not fear you possess; or shall we say you may possess weapons of a different kind? Let’s see what we have here.” He reached into the coat’s inner pocket. “Reveal your secrets,” he addressed it mockingly. As the Arkenstone came into view, he regarded it with sweet delight.

“Well, well, well. I’d say this paints a pretty picture, wouldn’t you agree?”

“King Thranduil, please! It’s not what you think!”

“I was right all along. The dwarf king sent you here to do his dirty work. You must have come precisely for the task of stealing this jewel from under my nose. I just can’t help wondering why you’re still here, seeing as it’s been quite a few days since the Arkenstone went missing. Perhaps being in my realm is what brightened your appearance so, to the point where you forgot to go back to your... duties? In that case, more sympathetic I could not be that you extended your stay here. My kingdom _can_ undoubtedly have that effect.”

“I did _not_ stay here! I’ve just arrived!”

“All right,” said Thranduil serenely. “Then you came here for the Arkenstone, went back to Erebor to give it to your king, and inexplicably decided to return here. As for your reason, I think we both know there can be only one. The two of you had another fight, and here you are, terrified again of that monster of a dwarf. Or perhaps on second thought you realized that giving the stone to such an easily corrupted person may not be the best idea, and you quietly removed yourself from his premises before such a fight could ensue?”

“Wrong again,” said Bilbo, determined to hold his ground. “You’re really barking up the wrong tree. First of all, I didn’t take the Arkenstone from you!”

“Then who did? And what is it doing in your pocket?”

Now, we all know the answer to that, and you might think it wise for Bilbo to give it to Thranduil without delay; yet the words never came. Legolas had said that upon reaching his destination he himself would inform his father of the real burglar’s identity, and he had asked Bilbo to keep quiet on the subject in the meantime. Did Bilbo have the right to break the news to the Elvenking earlier? Would Thranduil even believe him, or would he only manage to dig a deeper hole for himself?

“You will find out soon. It is not mine to tell,” he answered.

“You try my patience, Halfling. I will give you one more chance; such is my fondness for you. _How_ did the Arkenstone get to be in your pocket?”

Bilbo remained silent; and he wished, not for the last time, that he had never parted with the ring.

As if guessing his thought, Thranduil continued to examine the contents of his coat pocket, looking for something. “Hmm. I don’t see the ring among your belongings. Pity. But there seems to be something else of interest here.”

“Don’t you dare,” said Bilbo, his voice shaking furiously.

“What on earth are these? Oh, my. _Love_ letters?” asked Thranduil in sincere and utter disbelief as he held out the lengthy notes so dear (and up until now, so close) to Bilbo’s heart. He remained speechless for a while, not quite reading yet, just scanning the papers with his eyes and trying to wrap his mind around the idea that one Thorin Oakenshield could have written them.

“Are you seriously going to read private notes that are obviously not addressed to you?” asked Bilbo, sounding more than half as if he was scolding a young Hobbit for stealing carrots from a neighbor’s farm, memories of which he had plenty.

“Well. For one thing, I’m not even sure whom they’re addressed to; it doesn’t say. Instead of a proper name, the intended recipient is... a set of words in a certain revolting language. So I don’t feel too bad. That aside, for all I know this type of correspondence contains treacherous secrets. I’m more inclined to believe there is a code hidden in these lines, from your king to you, instructing when and how you should blow up my kingdom, than to buy that that nasty dwarf is capable of writing a genuine love letter. Either way, I’m not going to know more until I read to the end.”

Bilbo buried his head in his hands. This was a hopeless disaster. “Thorin...” he whispered miserably. “I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself for this.”

Thranduil started walking slowly around the dining hall, humming to himself. For a minute or two of great curiosity he did keep his attention on Thorin’s letters. Yet as he wasn't used to being away from himself for too long, he lost interest soon after, and eagerly resumed his conversation with Bilbo.

“So tell me, what are you _really_ doing in my kingdom? Such everlasting love” - he pointed to the papers in his hand - “is not exactly to your liking? A bit over the top, is it?”

Bilbo thought for a moment. How best to explain it? _I climbed a magical tree that belongs in the future, brought to the present by the Arkenstone being in this particular coat while I was in Erebor. When I reached the tree top I found myself here, no idea how._ No, that wouldn’t do. The powers at work in the Mountain, the special meaning Thorin attributed to his gifts for Bilbo, and the Arkenstone’s creativity in relating to those it loved... none of that was Thranduil’s business!

“I got here by mistake. A mistake I’m most anxious to repair, if you’ll only let me out of here.”

“I think not,” said Thranduil. “I think I’ll keep you here until I get to the bottom of this. Now, your ring is absent,” he continued with an intrigued expression. “Could it be that the dwarf has persuaded you to give your precious treasure to him or one of his? Or he has _bought_ it from you, perhaps, with promises of conjugal bliss? Unless he simply took it from you; that could definitely explain your parting with him. Ah, but I’ll let you admit it all to me in your own time. Until then... it has been a dream of mine to have both you and the Arkenstone together in my realm. I will take the opportunity to perform some experiments, and hope you will assist me in them. I still very much wish to bring my wife back.”

Bilbo raised a hand in protest, which Thranduil waved off languidly. “You can take today off, my Halfling. If you’ve “just arrived” you must surely be tired, and I have other engagements. We start early tomorrow morning. I will see you at breakfast and then we’ll begin our work in the garden.” He motioned to one of his guards. “Prepare a room for Mister Baggins here, and see that he lacks nothing,” he commanded.

“King Thranduil, I implore you. I can’t stay here. Thorin will be worried sick about me.”

“Oh. Then we’d better rectify that. I shall notify him of your whereabouts. And since I don’t expect he’ll readily believe me, I shall include these letters with my note, as proof that you really are here. They don’t belong in the Woodland Realm anyway,” he finished, eyeing Thorin’s notes with a grimace.

“But they’re mine! They belong with me!”

“Well...” said Thranduil patiently. “Both of them contain Dwarvish. Now, I’m not aware of the meaning of these words” - he proceeded to read with very bad pronunciation - “ _abnȃmul amrȃb, malabthȗn, ȃzyungel_ and all that. I feel like I’m being hit with a hammer, but what do I know, to a Dwarf these words may hurt oh so good. Plots to blow up my kingdom they may not be, but this language definitely brings up bad memories. My subjects heard your king when he desecrated my halls with his foul insults to me during his imprisonment last fall. I still have nightmares over that. I will not tolerate this language here, least of all in written form. I give you two options: I either throw these papers in there” - he pointed to the lit fireplace nearby - “or send them to Erebor.”

Bilbo stared at the fireplace, wishing for a second he could throw himself in it together with his stupidity. Will it hurt Thorin to see his love notes returned? Maybe a little, but at least they’ll survive. Thorin would know this was not Bilbo’s doing. He would, wouldn’t he? Last night, and the night before... they had spoken _everything_. True, on the first night Thorin had been the more generous of the two in offering assurances of an eternity of love; there was no question that Thorin had had more time to reflect on what they had, to feel love deeply within himself and be certain that it would endure. Yet, while Bilbo was more anchored in time and still going through a step by step process that for a while had included many new events, some of which quite traumatic, he _had_ tried to match Thorin on their second night. _I will find you in that place of certainty_ , he had spoken in the privacy of his mind, _I will reach the same point, Thorin, and be there with you_... and while he had not said the word _forever_ , he...

_I’ve never loved anyone else either. And I never will._

_Do you really love me?_ Thorin had asked, his penetrating eyes searching deep into Bilbo’s soul. The fire had died down a bit and they were lying side by side, each hoping to read his own thoughts upon the other’s face...

Bilbo had smiled. _I do. Really. Love you._

_Every time you say it to me, it feels like the first time. As if we’re beginning again. I will never get tired of hearing it._

Bilbo had brushed his fingers through Thorin’s hair, down to where it flowed over his shoulders, one of the many gestures that always felt new to _him_ ; and he thought that he still needed time to really take in the idea that Thorin was his now. _That_ for sure would feel new for the foreseeable future! _Then I will say it again. I love you. I love you..._ and Thorin lifted him and placed him on top of himself, just as they had been the night before, the first time Bilbo had given him these words. And Thorin closed his eyes with a smile of pure happiness and drowned himself in that love as he heard them repeated to him...

Words of a different kind made Bilbo snap back to reality at once. “Make your choice, Mister Baggins.”

“What? Oh. Yes. Please, don’t burn these letters,” Bilbo answered. Of course. Thorin would see through Thranduil’s facade. If their love couldn’t overcome this, then nothing could.

Right then, Bilbo could have realized something: that if their love was this solid, this real, then a few pieces of paper would make little difference: a mere drop in a vast, endless ocean. These notes could have been written again, with their author more than happy to oblige. It would have made more sense to spare Thorin the pain and confusion of having them returned.

The fact that Bilbo did not think this way (in what was admittedly a difficult moment) meant that he, perhaps, was still afraid. Not that he and Thorin were not truly in love; he was afraid that one day their love would be at an end, just as his beautiful adventure had threatened to end abruptly three months ago. He could not put out of his mind for good that Thorin had almost died. If he _had_ died... no, he didn’t, he didn’t, but if he- if they should be parted for whatever reason, as they were now, then those letters would be all he’d have left. Such was Bilbo’s present reasoning: he _needed_ those letters to survive.

Thranduil gave another silent order to one of his guards, who approached in perfect obedience. “These papers will need to be sent to the King Under the Mountain. But not today. Make it two days from now.” Then he turned back to Bilbo with a malicious smile. “Let him stew over where you are for a bit longer. Now, Mister Baggins, would you care for a walk in my kingdom? I don’t believe I’ve shown you much last time you were here. Oh, and let’s place the Arkenstone back where it belongs, shall we?”

The jewel in Thranduil’s hand rattled and hissed unhappily, and for a moment its colors changed to faded green and grey. And the void expanded, no longer just in Bilbo’s soul, spreading around and beneath him. As he looked into that void, hopelessly wishing not to get swallowed, he forced himself to remember. Remember that _if you stare into the abyss long enough, the abyss will also stare back at you_. _I_ _ **can**_ _handle this. I will find my way out. I just need to put together how I got here. Don’t lose faith, Thorin. Wait for me.._.

* * *

It had been three days.

On the day of Bilbo’s vanishing, Thorin had tried to keep calm. “Tell me everything you remember,” he had asked a very somber and down-on-himself Dwalin. Which, if we are to be honest, did not amount to anything particularly helpful. His friend did report visiting the area with Bilbo a total of three times; that the garden, absent during their first visit, presented itself vividly the second and third time; and that their last encounter also revealed a tree. Needless to say, along with Bilbo and said tree, the garden was equally gone now.

One interesting piece of information Dwalin shared was overhearing Bilbo say something during their second visit. _It’s the coats._ “He looked like he knew what was going on with the garden emerging out of nowhere. He said he was going to tell you. I didn’t pry any further.”

“Did you notice anything out of the ordinary about his coats?” asked Thorin.

“No,” Dwalin shrugged, and that was almost the extent of their conversation. Dwalin did intrude a bit this time, asking Thorin point-blank, “Don’t you think it’s strange that he _didn’t_ tell you about his findings? It wouldn’t be the first time the hobbit is awfully secretive.”

“Don’t go there, Dwalin,” warned Thorin. “We were... otherwise occupied last night. Not to mention...”

“Not to mention what?” said Dwalin impatiently, ready to roll his eyes.

“I think my presence can sometimes be a bit much for him. It can make him forget... himself. I could feel it last night at the Waterfall. He was...”

“All right, all right,” Dwalin conceded in a hurry. “No need for details. I just don’t want to see you heartbroken again. I get that you’re in love with him, but you’re... really deep in it. And if we examine the facts laid before us... it’s not looking too hot. As in...” - he cleared his throat - “he’s gone.”

With that, they left Erebor to look for Bilbo all over Dale, with no result. Next, Thorin explored every level inside the Mountain, again with no luck. Last, he summoned the Company and asked them to perform a more thorough search in both places, while Kili and Tauriel were to stand at Erebor’s gates and scrutinize the horizon for anything that moved.

At night, he tried to call for Bilbo, hoping that the hobbit’s dreams could once more provide the medium needed for communication as they had done in the past; but no answer came.

The next day, he took Dwalin to the courtyard outside the garden area, and stood where the tree had been, looking for clues.

“You know, he seemed really enamored with that tree,” recalled Dwalin.

“ _It’s the coats_ ,” Thorin pondered persistently. “The coats. What in Durin’s name could that mean?”

“ _Dehersu zirin kall_ ,” Dwalin said with impenetrable wisdom. “You are wasting your time. Too bad you can’t go ask his coats. Or you could, I suppose, at least take a good look at them. I mean, one or two of them are still here, are they not?”

“Good point,” said Thorin, and at once departed to seek Bilbo’s room and try to deduce which coat he was presently wearing. That did not take him very far, though, and deep grew the frown on his face as he continued to examine the puzzle before him...

At night, he called for Bilbo again, trying every single Khuzdul endearment he could think of, to no avail.

On the third day, he tried to ease himself back into work by making a special request of Bifur: to locate a certain object of great value to their House, assess it for any potential damage and try to repair it if necessary. Then he went to see Dain, and asked him if word had arrived back from his wife. Thorin was now most anxious to rid Erebor of the ring by sending it to the Iron Hills with Dain as soon as possible.

“You know what? The ring has disappeared,” said Dain, who sported a deep frown of his own.

“Disappeared??”

“Aye. I suspect it’s the dwarf whom I ordered to send a note to my wife. He must have peeked inside my message. I wouldn’t be surprised if he quickly developed an interest in the ring after reading it, and stole it from me later. Unbelievable. You and your Master Baggins were right after all: that ring does make people crazy. My dwarves would never be disloyal to me!”

“Dain!” shouted Thorin, unable to contain himself. “ _Where_ is the ring?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t had a chance to confront the dude. This Mountain of yours is keeping me rather busy. At any rate, I did hear back from my wife. She’s on board and is happily expecting me home with the ring.”

“Only, now you’ve lost it,” observed Thorin bitterly.

“Don’t worry. I shall launch a proper investigation; it will turn up. So how fare things with your hobbit? What’s this I hear about him missing?”

“Hmm.” Suddenly, Thorin was struck with an idea. “You know, that’s what the ring does. It makes you invisible. I wonder if the ring found a way to return to Bilbo; it may just prefer being in his keeping. This could explain Bilbo’s vanishing; maybe he had to use the ring for some reason.”

“Except it doesn’t bode well for your relationship, does it? I thought you guys were in love paradise. Why would he want to _stay_ invisible?”

“Maybe it wasn’t paradise for him,” said Thorin grimly. “Maybe I misread it all.”

“Yeah, love _can_ make you blind,” agreed Dain. “But I doubt that’s the case here,” he added in a hurry, not trusting he could handle the rapidly growing grumpiness on his cousin’s face. “He loves you, Thorin. Anyone can see that.”

Thorin walked away, flames arising around him, threatening to consume the very air of him. The madness had begun to return before he had time to realize that the presence of the ring in Erebor with no Arkenstone to outweigh its evil, in conjunction with Bilbo’s absence and the disappearance of the garden where Thorin had been at his happiest, were not the best prescription for his mental health.

What followed later that day did not help matters either. It was evening when Dwalin came to him, holding a big envelope in his hand.

“This just came from Mirkwood. It was brought by one of Thranduil’s accursed birds.”

Thorin opened it and stared silently. His two notes to Bilbo were very visible, along with a short letter from Thranduil, which Thorin was able to read but in shaky, broken fragments. _Your love letters are hereby returned; the Halfling is obviously so scared of you that he had to seek refuge with me; judging by the presence of the Arkenstone in his pocket and the last time you two had a row over this jewel, I can only guess what went on; don’t worry, you can have him back soon enough, and only slightly damaged..._

“What does it say?” asked Dwalin in an aggravated tone.

“Leave me,” said Thorin, his chilling calm sending shivers down Dwalin’s spine.

“Thorin! This is just what I was saying. Fine, I’ll leave. I’ll send Balin over; perhaps he can make you see sense. That hobbit has been nothing but trouble since...”

“Leave me,” Thorin repeated in a lifeless, sinking voice.

“You are not well,” said Dwalin as he rose from his chair. “I just thought you should know. The kingdom _needs_ you, Thorin. In one piece.” With these words, he left Thorin’s suite, grumbling.

Thorin moved towards his desk and absently placed Thranduil’s note in a drawer. Then he pulled out a different drawer that contained only one thing: a blue notebook engraved with a silver pattern. As he held and opened it, the writing inside shone briefly when it came into contact with the notes he had composed for Bilbo. There he left those, and returned the notebook to the drawer, oblivious to its brief luminosity. Then he fell to the floor and started shaking violently, and the Mountain shook with him; and all its inhabitants felt it like an earthquake, and trembled with fear.

Thankfully, this was soon interrupted by a knock on the door and the loud voice of a person determined to come in. Bifur had come to report on his task.

“The Mirror is ready for you, my King,” he said. “I found it in King Thror’s quarters. It used to be able to show you your heart’s deepest desire. But, with Smaug living here for so long, I fear it may show you something completely different, that you’re not aware of. In truth, it may show you something monstruous instead of your true desire. Be prepared, for it may scare you. We don’t know how it works, or whether it works as it did two hundred years ago.”

“Let us go to it now,” said Thorin with one last drop of strength. “I am ready for it.”

They descended towards the sanctuary where the dwarves intoned prayers to their Maker, a location worthy of an artifact so precious. As they entered, Thorin beheld the Mirror leaning against the wall on the left of the altar. As he moved closer, he perceived Bifur gesturing something to someone outside; it was Thorin’s guards, whom a concerned Dwalin had asked earlier to accompany Thorin wherever he went.

“I’ll be right outside,” said Bifur. “Your Majesty...” he added hesitantly, “it is said that sometimes one can step inside the Mirror and it will take them to another place; presumably, the place where the thing they really want resides. All the dwarves who were granted this blessing came back after a short while. However, I must once again emphasize that we don’t know how the Mirror operates in its current condition. Please be careful. If it does open for you, it’s better not to step in it at all. We need you here. You are the one who made all of this possible. You can’t leave us now.”

“Don’t worry, Bifur,” said Thorin. “I have no desire to be anywhere else. I _will_ return, no matter where it takes me.”

Bifur nodded, careful not to reveal his sadness, and exited the sanctuary. He stationed himself at the door, together with the guards, all three lost in deep apprehension at the state of their king.

“I have no more desire for anything at all,” Thorin murmured once he felt himself alone, his skin burning with the flames flying around him and howling like ghosts in the night, calling to him that they had come to seize his very soul; and he knew he could not fight them much longer. Yet he had to find a way out before he succumbed to their power. He had to, for there were others who needed him. A way to touch these flames and not get burned, a way to turn himself into ice and extinguish their fire.

“This is why I need you. I have lost the will to _want_ anything, and am losing the memory of what I once wished for. But you...” he pleaded with the Mirror helplessly as his hands reached for it, “you can show me what I truly want.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! To all of you who commented, gave kudos, bookmarked or subscribed to this story, please know that all of these mean a lot and make sharing my writing a rewarding experience for me!


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